PS 
1654 

£24 C4 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

■ _ '^ ^ 

f^pw iapi^ng]^ ^n. 

Shelf 1.^^'- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



\ 



EERATA. 

Page 65, third line, come should be read comes. 

Page 59, last line of third verse, wing should be read 
wings. 

IS^OTE. — On account of the limited time allowed for issuing 
this book, "Thoughts on the Aesthetic" is bound without 
reprinting. 



CERES 



A HflWEST HOME FESTlVAIi, 



0TMER P0EMS, ESSAYS, ETS. 



V 

MRS. OLIYE S. ENGLAHD, 



/j-7^^9^ 



SALEM,. OREGON : 

THE E. M. WAITE PRINTING COMPANY. 
1893 . 



75 1 '5"^ 



Copyright, 1S93, 
BY THE AUTHOR. 



All rights reserved. 



CONTENTS. 



The Festival of Ceres li 

The Indian Woman 33 

June and Music 37 

Friendship True 44 

Divided 4G 

United 48 

The Heart of My Love 40 

Parti n g" 50 

Expectation 51 

Opportunity 53 

The Violet's Love 54 

The End Crowns the Work 55 

Baby Hands 56 

Hartsease .- 58 

A Song of the Soul 59 

The Out-Going Ships 60 

A Common Theme — Home 62 

Imagination 63 

CJhristmas Echoes 63 

The Moon and Star 66 

Dedication — Unity Church 67 

Tiue Baptism 68 

Aspiration 69 

A Sonnet 70 

Adelia 70 

Knowledge 77 

o n l y a b a b y _.^. , 97 

The Aesthetic 101 



PREFACE. 



This little volume is strictly an Oregon production. 
It has been written, printed and bound in Salem, Oregon. 
If it should attract the attention of a few readers, they 
might ask: "Well what of it?" But so they might of 
thousands of othei- things at this great exhibition, and if 
through dread of criticism, exhibitors had failed to send 
things here, the greatest fair the world has ever seen would 
have been a complete failure. This volume has been com- 
piled and prepared on two weeks' notice, only, at the 
solicitation of anauthor friend, Mrs. F. F. Victor, who de- 
sired to see Oregon's literary productions at the Columbian 
Exposition. 

The poems and addresses, which are here collected 
together, were in a very chaotic state, from which I have 
hardly had time to rescue them. Whether I could have 
done better, if I had taken more time for preparation, I do 
not know. I cherish self esteem enough to think I could; 
but I am well aware that we often overrate our own ability. 

The Festival of Ceres, is published at the suggestion of 
Miss Susan B. Hale, the sister of Edward Everett Hale. 
Edward Everett Hale, in an address in the Auditorium, in 
Chicago, said : that he believed every person in that vast 
audience had written verses. While versifying is i^robably 
not so universal as the illusjtrious preacher asserted, yet is 
more common than the general public believe. It is like 



6 PREFACE. 

the ailments of our childhood, a disease common to all. 
Some have it mildly, while with some it goes severely. I 
am one of the latter. 

For this my first attempt at a book, I hope my frinds will 
have charity. If one does not depend upon literary efforts 
for a livelihood, there can be but two other things to fear — 
lack of experience, and lack of ability to write something 
that others will care to read. It is more than probable that 
this little book will be gored by hoth hoins. 

But I am resolved, no matter what fate may have in store 
for it, to send it forth, strong in the conviction that it is a 
''plucky" little thing, though quiet and retiring in its pre- 
tentions, and if it merits oblivion, all right. We're used to 

it, my book and I. 

THE AUTHOR. 



THE FESTIVAli OF CEI^ES. 



CHARACTERS. 

Ceres, Goddess of Heaven and Earth, also of the Harvest. 

( March 

Spring, ....... j April 

(May 
( June 

Summer, j July 

( August 
( September 

Autumn, I October 

( November 

( December 
Winter, .-..-. ' January 

( February 



GEI^ES. 

ACT I. 

Slow March Music. 
Curtain rises, revealing at one side of stage the altar of Geres, 
a little distance in front a seat or throne. Enter priestess 
swinging censer from which rises clouds of incense. The 
priestess is followed by six vestal virgins, who are slowly 
and softly chanting hymn to Ceres (tune Lord^s Prayer). 
Chant : 

We call upon the great Ceres, in song we call. We ask 
thy blessing on the harvest. We praise thee, thou giver of 
the oats, of wheat, of all the golden grain ; of corn, of wine, 
and for all the blessings thou dost bestow. We burn in- 
cense on thy altar that thou may est ever bless the earth. 
Let the light of thy countenance shine upon us. In the 
splendor of tliy graciousness, come. Bless the earth and 
the fullness thereof. Giver of the Harvest Home. 
As they chant they range themselves, three on each side of 
altar while priestess pours incense on altar. Enter Ceres, 
standing on car to which winged dragons are attached seem- 
ing to draw it. As scene parts and Ceres enters, vestals 
fall upon their faces. Ceres steps from car, waves burning 
torch which she holds in right hand, over vestals, saying, 
^' Arise.''"' She then pauses before altar, on step of throne. 



12 CERES. 

Ceres : 

From the bright home of the immortal gods I come to 
celebrate ray festival of harvest home. Come forth! Come 
forth ! O powerful servants of my work ; I would know 
what offerings ye bring to the fullness of the year. Come, 
thou first and fairest, gentle Ostera, angel of Spring. 
Come, with thy attendant months, thy offerings bring. 

Enter Ostera. 

Ostera .- 
I am Ostera, the angel of spring; 
I call ! resurrection to all things I bring : 
The Easter awakening from Winter's cold breath ; 
The sweet, tender buds I rescue from death. 
Midway 'twixt the Winter and Summer I stand 
And bring you an off 'ring of each in my hand. 
Come, March, son of Mars, with the winds in- thy train, 
Thy off 'ring seems cruel, but is not in vain. 

March ( Mars should be dressed in long black robes, and as /*e 
sings should wave robes ) : 
Blow, ye wild winds, blow, blow, blow. 
Yet Winter retreats wherever I go. 
But after me cometh with sunshine and tears. 
Aphrodite, coquetting with hopes and with fears. 

Enter April a^s Venus {March addresses her). 

Fair April, how fickle, inconstant thou art. 

Of coquetry full. Ah, hast thou no heart ? 

Yet something so winsome, so bright in thy smile. 

Like laughter and tears on the face of a child. 

Like sunbeams, like raindrops, thy clouds come aud go. 

Shall I trust thee, fair April? Depend on theel No. 



CERES. 13 

April : 
But know that I open the buds and the flowers ; 
Delight with my sunshine, impearl with my showers; 
I bring you the birds whose soft downy wings 
Gleam bright through the forests as sweetly they sing. 
I am Aphrodite, as Venus best known ; 
Born of the ocean's salt spray and white foam. 
To island of Cyprus in seashell of green, 
Was wafted at birth bright April's fair queen ; 
I landed, and lo ! on that lovely green isle 
The flowers burst forth, the Spring's fairest smile. 



Well, April, thou'rt welcome, if sad or if gay, 
E'en tho' mingling March clouds with the sunshine of 
May. 

Enter May { Sprincf addressing her ). 

My beautiful May, what bringest thou to the great 
Ceres, goddess of the earth "? 

May : 

\, the Goddess Maia, bring you pleasure and mirth, and 
the butterflies and bees, and also many flowers. The but- 
tei-flies have ever been the emblems of freed souls, by 
Psyche sent to adorn thy festival. The bees are emblem- 
atical of industry, that by labor gathereth the sweets from 
the flowers that bloom along the paths of life. Accept, O 
Ceres, these, my offerings, and I would that most graciouslj' 
you look upon my festival, for there pleasure reigns 
supreme. That scene of mirth and beauty now behold ! 
Scene parts ixvealing May-p'eie dance. Curtain. 



14 CERES. 

ACT II. 

Curtain rises to martial music. Enter Ceres, ivaves wand of 

poppies. 
Ceres : 

Come ! queenly Summer, delay not ; I long to behold 
thy resplendent face. 

Enter six little girls singing an ode to summer, also bearing gar- 
lands of flowers. As they cease singing, Herald of Sum- 
mer, little girl with beautiful garlands steps forward, 
saying : 
She comes with music and garlands. Already her spice- 
laden breath fills the air. Already her zephyrs blow soft 
o'er the hills. Summer, in all her glorious beauty is ou the 
threshold. 

Enter to music, Summer passing between rows of girls wtih 
garlands. 

Summer : 

I come from the land where the sunshine is king ; 

There is music of fountains, bees hum, birds sing; 

There are lilies and roses, and golden-hued flowers ; 

There beauty reposes 'neath spice- laden bowers. 

In the kingdom of Summer we are happy and gay ; 

'Tis a fair land of beauty where Love holdeth sway. 

You shall hear the sweet music that Summer can bring. 

Come, Orpheus ; Apollo, thy sweetest strains sing. 
Enter Orpheus and Apollo with guitar and mandolin; enter June 
as Juno. 

And here is sweet Juno, so stately and fair, 
Go, offer to Ceres thy tribute most rare. 



CERES. 15 

June : 

Great Ceres, sister goddess, I come at command. 
All crowned with the lillies of sweet Summer-laud. 
My fairies are dancing e'en now in the light 
Of the great silver moon that is shining so bright. 

Scene opens, fairies dancing around fairy queen, seated on 
throne. 

June : 

Look thou, on that scene, my fairies at play ; 
Lovely the offerings I bring you to-day. 

Ceres : 

The grace, innocence and beauty of thy offering is indeed 
beyond compare, and such scenes are well pleasing to the 
Gods. But where is thy sister July ! 
June : 

Behold she comes ! The great Goddess of Liberty; the 
best beloved of all upon earth. 

July ( as Goddess of Liberty) : 

Most gracious deity, I shall give you the noblest and best. 
Judge not harshly on first appearance, 1 know that thou 
art wise and just, and so fear not to bring to thee my offer- 
ing. Earth has changed much in all the intervening years 
since that golden age when the great gods came, and walked, 
talked, and dwelt among men. Thou knowest Jhave always 
dwelt upon this earth, because my power as liberator has 
ever been most needed, and still is needed. He who shall 
come at my bidding is not of thy race, O, goddess, but O, 
listen to his plea, for to him and his countryman, my mouth 
is most sacred. {She calls?) "Brother Jonathan, come!" 



16 CERES. 

{Orchestra strikes up Yankee Doodle, enter Brother Jonathan 
whistling Yankee Doodle.) 

Ceres, {startled): 

Brother Jonathan! No such name was ever known to the 
immortal gods; whence comest though, who art thou! 

Brother J. (Looks around, then places foot on altar; elbow on 
knee; addresses Ceres, who is much agitated at desecration 
of her altar. ^: 

Ceres, jest you rest easy; I know what I'm abeout; mebby 
1 haint deoun with them ar immortal gods, and mebby I 
am. {Straightens up for speech.) Dew yeou know anything 
abeout the Fourth of July? George Washington? E pluri- 
bus uniumf Uncle Sam, the American eagle! Of course 
you might have associated with the Goddess of Liberty 
some, as she is your kind ; but there's a few others of our 
old fore-mothers and fore-fathers shan't be slighted ef I kin 
tell their story, and I reckon I kin. Pshaw, Ceres! Youi- 
edication is all run deoun and haint worth nothin' ef you 
don't know abeout them. I might hev showed you the 
picter of George Washington as he was took as a mason. 
In that he appears at his best. His face is cam and serene. 
One hand, which guided the Ship of State safely into the 
port of National Independence, is stretched forth in bene- 
diction, and the other holds a gavel, which is as near like a 
hatchet as it can be made. He was "took" with a dish- 
apron on jist to please Marthy, (some folks think his apron 
means something about masonry, but it don't. ) It is to show 
that he was not too "stuck up" to help Marthy wash the 
dishes, His apron does seem to have a considerable uv 
fringe, and tuckers and firills on it but they all mean some- 



CERES. 17 

thing good, or you wouldn't ketch 'em on him. His prin- 
ciples struck deep ; laid holt of the bed-rock, went clean 
down to the underpinnin' of things. When he was a little 
kid his pappy bought him a hatchet to split kindlin' wood 
with, bnt the fust tlrng he used it fur was to chop out the 
underpinnin' from the ash-hopper, so it couldn't leach off 
no lie. Oh, I tell you he loved the truth. The same day 
he busted a hole in his mother's soap kittle, 'cause lie biled 
down, concentrated lie. he conldn't stand. His father had an 
English cherry tiee, growin' out by the piazzay, and 
though George had at diffeeent times dressed up in British 
i-egimentals and faught the Injuns when they tried to steal 
cherries, yet he hated that tree. So, one day he took his 
hatchet and began choppin' it down. Eveiy blow meant 
something: First, he chopped through the bark — which was 
eu)blematical of the ba-k of oj)pression which sort of hide- 
bound the American colonies and which was cut assunder 
by the hatchet of George Washington. Every blow was 
a blow at lies, and that is the reason there is so much 
bloiv about American citizens now. Little did George 
think that every blow of his hatchet would ring all around 
the world, and echo down through all the advancing cen- 
turies, proclaiming freedom. But it has. If George had 
not cut down that tree American politicians might never 
have become pure and truthful as they are now. 

O, what a pity George could not have been in the 
garden of Eden, and chopi^ed down the tree of knowledge, 
of good and of evil, before the apples were ripe. For I 
know those apples were green, and sort of soured on our 
fore-parents, Adam and Eve. Anyhow, if George had been 
there with his hatchet, it would have saved the rest of 



18 CERES. 

US from a heap of noneseuse and a lot of religious colic. 
Well, however, the eagle sat on the gable-end of the smoke- 
house, singin' Hail Columbia to cheer George while he 
made the chips fly. When the tree fell the eagle screamed 
out at him, that as he must be about tuckered out, if he 
would attend to other pressiu' matters, she would attend to 
the hatch-it hereafter, as it was more in her line of business; 
and she did. Nobody could shew her away until she got 
ready to go, either. Finally, she took that tree in her 
tallous, just as you see it in the coat of arms, and flew to 
her eyrie on the lonely, beetling crag of the Rock of Inde- 
pendence, and clawed it all to pieces and used some of the 
pieces to build into her nest. O, Ceres, you had orto seen that 
old bird's nest ! It was the most outlandishest nest ever 
built under the sun. There was something in it from every 
clime, and she made some of them climb too ;• hence the 
solubrity of the climate ( climb it. ) 

In that nest are germs from Germany, franchise from 
France, bells from Belgium, hop-poles and polecats from 
Poland, chills and agur from Chili, beaux from Bohemia, 
rushes from Russia, switches from Switzerland, sandwiches 
from the Sandwich Islands, china asters from China, pans 
from Japan, guinea hens from Guinea, hollers from Hol- 
land, Canada thistles from Canada, gum arable from 
Arabia, hungry folks from Hungary, taller candles from 
Greece, Indians from India, ideas from Idaho, biscuits from 
the Bay of Biscay and turkey- feathers from Turkey. When 
she got her nest all done she named it E Pluribus Unum, 
^ic Semperatus Alpaca Holly Hock, cause she knew it was 
one formed of many, and also that we would need a na- 
tional flower, and besides, she was a clever old bird and 



CERES. 19 

uiulerstood Latin jist as well as any language under the 
sun. Of course the Eagle made a little mistake to disturb 
George before he had chopped the tree down root and 
l)ranch, but the best of us make mistakes. History tells us 
that that cherry-tree stump "is still there" and sends up a 
few slioots occasionally. On this account Americans might 
possibly lie once in a while, but I don't think so. 

Philosophers tell us no stream can rise above its source. 
If there ever was a pure stream started in a straight and 
narrer source, it was the steam of national honor and truth 
started by the blows of the hatchet of George Washington, 
but it got to meanderiu' off down the mountain side, and 
the further off it got, the worse it meandered. Upon this 
subject you should muse, Ceres, and muse deeply. 

Ceres, I'm agoin' to tell you about our flag. We allers 
thought some of you old goddesses got it up, in heaven. 
Somebody must have had a streaky time a gittin' it up. 
There's a streak of red, and a streak of white, and a whole 
patch of blue. The white and blue represent the truth and 
purity of America's politics and politicians. The red is the 
emblem of the blood shed by America's heroes, a keej)in' 
of 'em pure. But I don't see how that flag pole can point 
without a blush straight up to that heaven from whence 
came the true, blue ground- work of those pure, white, free 
stars until American women are allowed to help the Eagle 
and the Goddess of Liberty hold up that pole. For we all 
know that the afore-mentioned, the Goddess and the Eagle, 
were two very sensible females, who were right on hand in 
the start to help George with this Republic. 

After the Republic wu"z got up, the Eagle heard the 



20 



British Lion a roarin', and she flew at him and clawed I'^s 
eyes out, and Yankee Doodle Dandy got drunk on tea and 
they flung him ovei board in Boston harboi, but he jist 
swam out a whistlin' his own immortal tune ; George Wash- 
ington waded the Delaware, with the snow clean up to h^s 
armpits, and the ice and slush a runnin' like all tarnation, 
and the same night the old Britishers took a cold which 
settled into a steddy rheumatiz, which is still a grindin' 
'em. But I'm ahead uv my story and sort of mixed up a 
little, but Ceres, them's facts all the same. 

And when George's father found the tree cut down he 
asked George if he done it with his little sharp-aiged 
hatchet. ''You won't lick me if I tell the truth, will you," 
asked George. "I don't lick for nothin' but lies," yelled 
the old man. Then to save hisself from gettin' licked for 
cutMn' the tree, Georgie said: "Father, I did. I cannot 
tell a lie." Of course Geoige wuzzent to blame fur tellin' 
the truth, coz history says he couldn't lie. Then his pappy 
embraced him, and they mingled their tears on the same 
bandannar handkercher ( that is to say the old man ciied 
and wiped Georgie's nose ). 

The war of the Revolution broke loose — the war of 1812 
wuz a brewin' — the war of the Rebellion got ripe — the 
Goddess of Liberty ragged out in red, white and blue and 
flirted a little with Uncle Sam. Yankee Doodle gave thiee 
whoopin' cheers fur E Fluribus Unum, Sic Semperatus 
Alpaca Holly Hock, and we became a free and glorious 
Republic with fire-crackers ripe at all seasons of the yeai-, 
and the Eagle done the j^ellin'. 

Now, Ceres, I'll be plain m :th you, if we're not daown 



CERES. 21 

on yeour list of them old gods, I shall allers think we'd ort 
to be. 

Ceres, much agitated, arises : 

Brother Jonathan, thy noble countryman, that bright 
hero, George Washington's name shall forevermore be 
placed upon the scroll of fame, and high upon Olympus' 
shining crest shall thy country's deeds be sung by heavenly 
choirs. The flag of thy native land shall evermore unfurl its 
shining folds and be caressed by every breeze that blows, 
and kissed by the sunshine's golden flame. Thy glorious 
Eagle shall now, and always conquering bear aloft thy 
glorious coat of arms in triumph. And listen ! Brother 
Jonathan, thine own illustrious name shall stand first upon 
the list of the immortal gods ! ! 
Brother Jonathan rushes up to Ceres, grasps her hand, saying : 

Put it there, pard. 

Goddess of Liberty pats Brother Jonathan on the back. Brother 
Jonathan then links Goddess of Liberty^s arm in his oion, 
both exit, he ichistling Yankee Doodle. 

Ceres to Summer : 

Summer, call forth thy other month, thy glorious king. 

Summer : 

Great August, come ! 

Enter August, as Helios, God of the Sun. 
August: 

Summer, my queen, I am here at thy bidding, I, the 
firemonth, Great Helios, God of the Sun. From this cup of 
gold I pour the sunshine over all the earth. Re carries 



22 CERES. 

gold cup in ivhich gold thread of curled wire are concealed, 
which, when he turns cup upside down, fall to the stage. My 
fierce beams ripen fruit and grain. 'Tis my offering — may 
it prove well pleasing in thy sight. I also bring you the 
music of harvesters singing as they reap the yellow grain. 

Scene opens revealing harvest scene. 



ACT III. 

Ceres : 

Summer has gone ; but where is bounteous Autumn, my 
beautiful, my favorite season. I would behold thy face, 
best beloved, come ! Great Ceres commands ! 

Enter Autumn, dressed in scarlet : 

I have come ! I am Autumn ! Cast off the dead roses ! 

I am decked in the robes that are fairer than all, 
For nature is brightest before she reposes, 

E'er the wintry winds come, or the early snows fall. 

I have come in the granduer of flame and of glory. 
To fulfill all the promise of Summer and Spring, 

E'er my red banners fade; e'er my crown shall turn hoary; 
Accept ye the fruitage and blessings I bring. 

Come ! Come in thy glory, immortal September, 
Bring gold of the harvest in thy gen'rous hand, 

The gifts that ye bring, shall all men remember, 
As far the most precious brought forth in the land. 



CERES. 23 

Enter September, hearing sheaves of grain which she lays at 
Geres' feet. 

September : 

Our country is blest, 'tis the greatest and grandest — 

What more would we ask, if we could, of the gods % 
Kind nature is lavish of her choicest blessings. 

Which springeth like magic from Oregon's sod. 
The most brilliant gems on her bosom reposes, 

For her mines with their riches begin to unfold; 
Her plains, and her mountains, her rivers and forests; 

Her ceieals abounding all freighted with gold. 

Autumn : 

October, come forth ! thy sister is waiting, 

O, bring us rich draughts of life's purple wine, 
Bring banners of Autumn, I long to behold them; 

Bring fruits that are luscious — bring all that is mine. 

October, bearing fruits : 
Great Autumn, I come! all clothed in the splendor 

That N'ature in beauty now weaves 'round the year: 
Here are fruits of the vine, I bring you so luscious, 

'Tis Nature's last tribute e'er Winter appear. 
From my brows, when my garland of spendor shall wither, 

It shall melt into beauty that Winter shall give, 
My leaves that are scarlet, in cold winds now quiver. 

Yet in new forms of being and wonder shall live ; 
In the buds of the spring-time, in garlands of summer. 

Eternal progression ! but never decay. 
In grain that shall ripen, in fruits growing mellow, 

My bright forms are changing forever and aye. 



24 CERES. 

I bring golden dreams of soft Indian summer, 
That come to this earth at the change of the year — 

And e'en gods may dream! Behold! O great Ceres ! 
Bright vision, of beauty all-glorious, appear! 

She claps her Jiands, scene opens, reveals statuary and posing 
lasting several moments. This can he made exceedingly 
beautiful by well-drilled performers and soft, low, sweet 
music. Scenes clo^'ie one moment here, rises immediately. 

Autumn : 
Come forth ! November, November. 

Enter November. 

I come from the shade, November, November, 
I come, and red Autumn's best tribute I bring. 

'Tis hearts that are full of blessed thanksgiving 
For all that the year in its fullness doth bring. 

Scene jmrts revealnig Thanksgiving dinner scene. 

November : 

See ! Beloved Goddess, Earth's children are happy, 
behold feasting and mirth. The true thanksgiving conies 
from happy hearts ; happy in the knowledge that this is 
the golden year of Oregon's prosperity. 



ACT IV. 



I now call fair, cold Winter. Come Winter, that the 
circle of the year may be complete. Come, from the dis- 



25 



taut land of the midnight snn! Come, on the rosy chariot 
of the flaming Aurora Borealis! May the freezing north- 
wind speed thee o'er thy icy road ! 

Enter Queen of Winter, accompanied by Jack Frost, music of 
sleigh-hells. , 

Winter : 
Great goddess, this servant that cometh with me, 

Cold, cold December, not welcome is he, 
For the life-force of IS'ature is locked by his key. 

He locks in a prison each bud, leaf and flower, 
Sends blight, desolation from his icy tower. 

In my home, in the far-frozen caves of the north, 
Weave I garments of snow, make jewels of frost. 

Jack Frost is my servant o'er mountains and lea. 
He spreads my fair garments, so lovely to see. 

Jack Frost, as December : 

When brightly is burning the fire on the hearth, 
A delicate lace- work I weave o'er the earth; 
Though locking in prisons the flowers of Spring, 
More beautiful far are the blossoms I bring. 
They are born of the breath of the Angel of Snow, 
I scatter them, scatter them, wherever I go. 
I bind the wild rivers with a glittering chain — 

. Until Spring in her tenderness tree's them again. 

Winter : 
By my ciown with its jewels — my magical wand — 
The forces of Nature are safe in his hand. 
For the mystery of life, whatever it be. 
Lives safe in the power wivested in me. 



'Jt) CERES. 

December : 

Now the festival greatest of all on the earth, 
I bring as my offering— judge thou of its worth. 

(Scene part, reveals Christmas scene.) 
Ceres : 
Why, 'tis the old Saturnalia, 

December : 

Renewing each year, 
Under new name of Chistmas, enjoyments dear. 

Winter : 

I would call another servant, Janus or January, to whom 
is now accorded the honor of being the first month in the 
year. 

Ceres : 

Janus Bifrons? Ah! yes, wave thy jeweled wand. 
Summon him with libations of rich wine. Let incense 
burn upon my altar. I would that he should'st honor my 
festival. Let thy high-priest summon him. 

Winter signs to December to burn incense, and pours wine over 
altar, saying : 

Come, Janus, thou keeper of the eternal doors of earth 
and heaven. 

Enter Saturn, or Old Father Time, as Old Year. 

Old Year: 

Stay ! E'er he come, I must pass before thy altar. I 
must bid farewell and follow the unnumbered years into 
t':at far-off past of which I so soon shall become a part. My 



CERES. 27 

work is ended. I have been a faithful servant. Great 
Ceres, jndge thou my work — all these that have passed 
before thee are but parts of my work. Come, December, 
tliou goest with me. I go, farewell, farewell. 

All on stage solemnly reply, '^Farewell, farewelV 

Enter January as Janus Bi/'rons, with two masks or faces on, 
leading by hand little Netv Year. 

Janus : 

I come at thy bidding. I that openeth antl shutteth the 
doors of the year, and also the everlasting doors of high 
heaven where Great Jupiter sits enthroned in awful 
majesty. My face looks forth with compassion on the 
retreating year, who with bowed form and drooping head 
recedes forever from mortal sight. But I bring to you, O 
stately Goddess, the infiint New Year. I have closed the 
door upon the Old Year and his finished work. I have 
opened for the New, whose work begins. O may all the 
gods propitious be to him, and bounteous giver of earth's 
most precious things, may thy blessing be upon him that 
he may faithful prove. 

Ceres taJces him by the hand and tva.ving wand says, '■'■'' Tis done.^^ 

Winter : 

I have yet another servant who waits without to bring 
his tribute to thy shrine. February, come ! 

February as St. Valentine. 
February : 

What remains for me to offer, where all have brought 
such bounteous gifts to the^ O, Ceres, Goddess of the Golden 



28 



Harvest time; aud of all the earth, all, all is thine ! We 
do but render to thee thine own again. The feast of Purity 
which is the event which gave to me my name, is but 
founded on a sacred feast which, as thou k no west well, in 
the ages gone, was sacred unto thee. But I, Saint Valen- 
tine, have dedicated another day, and this to Love. Come, 
sweet Love ; bring pretty Cupids in, and as thy songs in- 
spire men's souls, and captivate all hearts, those pretty 
boys of thine may send some arrows home. 

Enter Love with cupids holding up her train ; she .sings while 
eupids pose with drawn hows. As the song is finished enter 
Brother Jonathan. 

Brother Jonathan : 

Look a here now, February, you and Ceres, and all you 
gods and goddesses, you'd better not forget that part of 
February belongs to George Washington. I recon he got 
in about the 22nd. Git eout, now; yeour kind haint to 
be talked abeout the vsame day as his'n. Aud he, the 
father of this 'ere American Eepublic — and a full partner 
of the bald headed eagle. 

Music starts up Hail Columhia; Ceres takes arm of Brother 
J. They lead procession; all performers come out two by 
two; grand march. Curtain. 



POEMS. 



POEMS. 



THE INDIAN WOMAN. 

[ The following poem was written at Newport, Yaquina Bay 
Oregon, on the occasion of the death of an Indian Woman named 
Annette, who was said to be the most beautiful woman on the 
reservation. She was much more refined and better educated 
than her companions. Her husband, whom she tenderly loved 
had deserted her, and by many was thought to be her murderer. 
She had become very melancholia^ and would wander off alone 
by the sea-shore at night, after her work for the day was done. 
At the time of her death she was employed at the Ocean House, a 
summer resort of Newport. There were many pleasure seekers 
at the hotel at the time, and two days after the sad occurrence, at 
an amateur entertainment, (the first entertainment ever given at 
Newport) given in the parlors of the Ocean House, this poem was 
read by its author. Annetta was hurried at the Siletz Reserva- 
tion, eight miles distant from Newport.] 

Found dead ! an Indian woman, 

Found lying on the saud ; 
A dark-haired Indian woman ; 

Yes, murdered on the strand ! 

A red wound on her dusky throat, 

The seaweed in her hair, 
The moonbeams shining on her face. 

Which once was wondrous fair. 

Her soft eyes closed forevermore 
On scenes of life and love, 



34 



Shall wake in realms of beauty, in 
That Eden-land above. 

Her graceful form but yesterday 
Was bounding o'er the strand — 

To-day all cold and silent is, 
A clod upon the sand. 

But she an Indian outcast was, 

What careth you and me? 
The fate, this dark woman, dead ! 

So near the rippling sea. 

Not e'en one peal of laughter gay 

Of strollers ou the shore, 
Shall for one moment be less glad. 

Though she come nevermore. 

Her life could not have gladsome been 
Her death can't help but be 

Much better than her life hath prov'd, 
While dwelling by the sea. 

For she was but a lowly one, 

And all she had was life. 
But once she had a lover true — 

Though now deserted wife. 

The human heart is human still — 
With wild sweet wayward love — 

And but an Indian woman, may 
Its deepest passions prove. 



35 



For love a thing eternal is — 

And even her dark breast 
Had felt its deepest meaning thrill, 

And known its wild nurest. 

She said her heart was sorrowful, 

She longed to be at peace. 
She strayed down by the waters wild, 

Whose moanings never cease. 

The moon rose o'er the mountains high ; 

She saw the golden horn. 
Against the purple sky of night. 

Where shining stars are born. 

A prayer went forth from dusky lips, 

To him who rules above, 
That she might cast the burden off, 

Of unrequited love. 

A cloud sailed o'er the moon's fair face, 
The waves rose white and high ; 

A shriek rung out upon the night ! 
A woman's wild death cry. 



And so at morn they found her, dead ! 

So near the restless sea — 
But only an Indian outcast gone ; 

What's that to yon and me. 

The waves dash wildly on the shore ; 
They wash th£ blood-stained sands — 



36 



Salt waves that leave the sands all clean , 
But not the murd'rer's hands. 

Ah ! waves, sad waves, that moan and sigh, 

The truth you cannot tell ; 
You whispor of that tragedy, 

But keep the secret well. 

Ah ! does the God of justice sleep ? 

Or shall his power reach — 
Requite that humble woman there, 

Found murdered on the beach "? 

Will not the law, with mighty arm. 

Her dreadful wrong requite ! 
Will justice strive the same for her 

As if her face were white ? 



Well, let her comrades take her to 

The distant lonely grave; 
Beyond the mountains daik and high, 

Beyond the rolling wave. 

They started on their journey, as 

The moon rose o'er the sea* — 
Whille o'er the hills and valley's deep. 

They bore her tenderly. 

The wild waves thundered on the shore, 

While o'er the waters wide, 
The winds were sobbing to the stars, 

And far out o'er the tide. 

*These Indians would not touch the hody of a murdered person until the moon rose. 



POEMS. 37 

All nature seemed to grieve for her, 

For she was Nature's child, 
A flower that iu the forest bloomed— 

Some fairest flowers are wild. 

God's flowers of the forest sweet, 

Whose perfumes are so rare 
As those that fills the costliest vase, 

Or deck the suuniest hair. 

But now with death we leave her clay, 

Within that spirit-land 
The soul hath passed of her we mourn. 
Found murdered on the strand. 



.JUNE AND MUSIC. 

[ A poem delivered before the Musical Alumni of Willamette 
University, June 10, 1891.] 

The poet license always hath 
To sing his songs in any key, 
Make use of fact and myth, to make 
His poem harmonize with ease ; 
For fact and myth, together, make 
Beliefs of men in every state. 
Together, best thej/ please. 

And now, kind friends, we ask of you 

Attention, while we sing 

A song of June and Music's power. 

And though new thoughts we may not bring, 



38 



'Twill help to while away one hour — 
Some good you may receive — 
Although this story uot believe. 

Long, long ago, (we give no dates) 

But when this earth was younger far, 

E'er Music's instruments were made 

As now, or so well played, 

E'er Art such instruments had strung ; 

But Nature's voices — sweeter far — 

Forever fiU'd the earth with sound 

Of melody divine ; whose instruments, 

So cunningly devised, have ever been 

The highest form of minstrelsy, 

Were listened to, with reverence more, 

Than since hath Art at^^^ained such power. 

In that age long since pass'd away. 
Bright June in bower of roses rare, 
All crowned with lilies sweet and fair, 
And beautiful beyond compare, 
The Queen of Summer reigned. 

Her lovely nymphs at her command. 

Brought flowers sweet, from every land. 

And shells and pearls from ocean's strand, 

Her favor thus to gain. 

The West Wind came from the lea. 

And told ner tales so sweet ; 

He told of islands in the seas, 

Of Gardens of Hesperides, 

Her golden apples on the trees. 



39 



Of spray that clashes wild aud free 
Where winds and waters meet. 

She did not smile — and June can frown, 

But said, " One blessing yet I miss, 

Not precious things from country, town, 

Not gold or germs in earth far down, 

Not glist'ning snows from Mount Hood's crown, 

Not fragrant breath from islands far. 

Nor shining light from distant star, 

Can add unto my bliss." 

Apollo comes with tuneful lyre. 

All strung with strands of golden hair, 

While with him all the muses sing, 

And at his call, from wooded hills 

Come fays and fairies with a will, 

And gnomes and sprites from reedy rills, 

And bright-hued birds their sweet notes trill 

The joy and praise they bring. 

Now hearing such sweet harmonies. 
The fauns and satyrs dance with ease. 
Sweet zephyrs sigh all through the trees, 
And gladly lend their softened notes, 
As sounds Apollo's witching lyre. 
While all the insects softly croon. 
And murmuring waters in attune 
Go rippling on their way. 
The woodland echoes gently blend. 
And many charms to music lend. 
All Nature's voices -jv'ild and gay. 



40 POEMS. 

Help swell the merry roundelay, 

'Til every tone of music sweet, 

Now makes the chorus full, complete, 

While all these voices in attune, 

Have but one theme, the praise of June. 

These sentiments they sing to her : 

"We hail you. Summer's sovereign. 

The Queen of Beauty evermore. 

Around your feet in beauty spring 

And bloom the radiant flowers. 

And unto you their incense bring. 

Whene'er shall reign the month of June, 

With perfect days and laughing hours. 

When bird and bee, on downy wings. 

And all bright dreams that Summer brings, 

Proclaim thee Queen of lovely things ; • 

Who scatterest blessings ev'i-y day, 

From all thy rosy, leafy bowers. 

Does earth her thankful anthems raise." 

Apollo's hand across the strings, 

With yet more skillful touch he brings; 

From heaven leaped down the sacred fire 

That warms the heart with wild desire 

That music only brings ; 

And this the burden of his song. 

Where e'er shall reign the month of June, 
Shall all the youth throughout the land — 
Who shall the intellect expand — 
Be crowned with honors and degrees ; 
And, all, who in the minds of youth 



41 



Instill the principles of truth, 
Shall rest from labors ; take their ease. 
Teachers and pnpils, free from care, 
Shall seek the balmy mountain air; 
The ocean's breath inhale — the balm 
Of summer-time— in rest and calm. 

But greatest gifts that we can bring 
Shall Music be in everything; 
The earth be all attuned 
With melody, from shoie to vShore. 

Fair June, then took her lilly wreath 
And crowned Apollo's brow, 
And said: "IS^ot e'en the wealth of June, 
With brilliant flowers and sweet perfume ; 
With halcyon days of light and bloom, 
And lang'rous dreams of Summer-time; 
Would e'er be sweet without the charm 
Of rest, and Music's power." 

All through the ages down since then. 
Hath these same blessings come to men 
In June commencement songs and flowers ; 
While "sweet young graduates" try their powers ; 
Reunions come, and then farewell 
To Alma Mater, 'round which dwell 
The mem'ries sweet that future years 
Cannot obliterate. 

To us oft comes the smiles aud tears 
As we recall Jane-days gone by, 
With all they meant to happy youth — 



42 



Just starting forth to try life's fate. 
And as the years doth intervene, 
And life's events come in between, 
Will mem'ry, ever glancing back, 
Eeview the scenes — the faces sweet — 
That somehow dimmer grow ; the feet 
That trod these halls, and left no trace, 
Whose footsteps echo in the place 
Within the chambers of the soul. 

And like these youthful ones who stand 

Upon the threshold of that land. 

The future dimly seen ; 

Like fledgeling bird that longs and waits 

To spread his untried wings ; 

We long for heights we yet shall reach, 

And feel the holiness you teach 

The soul, O, Music, sweet, 

And dream of songs we yet shall sing 

When by our better angels taught. 

These aspirations of the soul 

That hath desire for higher goal. 

This life is ever incomplete. 

Yet tones of music strangely sweet 

Is ever sounding through its pain. 

Appeal to us, and not in vain, 

From higher source than creeds of men ; 

For creeds of men would fetter thought, 

And cannot satisfy the soul. 



43 



For thought an angel is all bright, 

That Cometh from the world of light 

With free unfettered wings, 

While to our souls this truth she brings : 

It is not how we worship Him, 

But so in truth we find our God. 

And oft 'tis Music doth reveal 

God's truth, man's mysteries would conceal. 

God strikes these harps with unseen hand. 

Yet we at last shall understand. 

The homesick soul this music hears — 
It is not heard with mortal ears — 
'Tis sound of voices wond'rous dear, 
Of those gone forth so fearlessly 
To meet the sweet deep mystery 
In realms far, silent, yet so near. 

And often, when the evening sky 
Unfurls his banners golden flame, 
Reveals the pathway leading high. 
And fills the soul with prophecy 
Too vast and deep for human speech ; 
When breath of June fills all the air 
With incense sweet, beyond compare, 
Then does the spell that Music brings. 
The sacred fire from heaven that came, 
Burn in the heart with fervid flame. 
Emotions strange like billows roll, 
By turns they struggle for the soul 
Its masteiy to attain. 



44 



Our spirits filPd with sacred thought. 
Shall know the lesson it hath taught 
Of more than transitory things. 
Thus those we love we meet again ; 
For all sweet hopes of better things 
Are but some form of angel wings 
That wafts the soul to some fair height, 
Whence flow the fountains life and light. 
'Tis thus deep wisdom dries all tears ; 
Dispels our doubts, and quiets fears ; 
And leads us upward to the light 
Eevealed through Music's subtle power. 



FRIENDSHIP TRUE. 

I gazed upon her winsome face 

Which glowed with intense feeling ; ' 
How I admired the kindly grace 

Her tender eyes revealing ! 
I knew that I had met a soul 

Who read aright my mission ; 
I knew that to us both had come 

All friendship's full fruition. 

Her face is tender, sweet and fair, 

And yet so strong and noble, — 
Eeveals a friendship that will wear, 

Lend strength in times of trouble. 
Few friends will love us with our faults, 

Alas, we all are human. 
But this friend loves me as I am, 

Ah, noble love of woman. 



45 



How seldom is this life of ours, 

Where jealousy aud envy 
Oft lurks amidst the fairest flower. 

And poisons feelings friendly. 
Do we thus meet with earnest love, 

Which is all free from passion, 
The gross and sensual far above, 

O, would it were in fashion. 

Friendship, although a golden chain 

That binds fond hearts together. 
How easy 'tis to part its links. 

Aye ! sunder them forever. 
But she is always true to me ; 

She makes me nobler, better. 
Her friendship is a chain of flowers, 

I love each shining fetter. 

She is not rich ! nor beautiful ! 

And her's a mission lowly, 
But yet she is my patron saint, — 

Her influence pure and holy ; 
And though she claims no special creed, 

She holds a deep communion 
With Him who knows the soul's great need, 

Divine, or sadly human. 

And, as some sinful penitent 

Before his saint is kneeling. 
Pours out his soul in passion's prayer. 

And seeks for God's revealing; 



46 



'Tis thus I often go to her, 
Sweet, tangible and human, 

And she and I speak heart to heart, 
As woman unto woman. 

As Christ had one his "best beloved," 

Who leaned in trust upon him, 
So may we hold some precious friend, 

With special love may crown him. 
True friendship is a holy thing, 

Above, beyond all passion ; 
It is of that which angels are, 

Alas! 'twere more in fashion. 



DIVIDED. 



At night, in dreams, I feel thy fond embrace 

I feel thy dewy breath upon my face, 
Thy voice so dear, I hear repeat my name, 

With rapture thrills my soul, again, again, 
O! darling, surely doubt can never come. 

In faith, true love like rare exotics bloom ; 
And yet a flow'r that oft may quickly blow. 

Whose perfume fills the air of dewy eve. 

The love that's true, is deathless, -like the star 
Whose light illumes the earth from heaven afar. 

The flow'r of love a wond'rous fragrance leaves 
Like breath of heav'n some golden censer breathes. 

Then shall we cast this lovely thing aside 1 
Destroy this bloom more fair than all beside ? 



POEMS. 47 

From out our hearts the tendrils tear away, 
And close our eyes to perfect golden day, 
And naught remain but night and withered leaves'? 

Ah! no! my lover, ev'ry flow'r that blows 

Of love is deathless ; like a star it glows. 
As life is gliding on, each day, each hour, 

The shining chain of love with firmer pow'r 
Will bind true hearts together, welded fast 

With love our God hath linked and such shall last, 
Tho' fate 'till death such hearts assunder keep — 

Tho' mountains rise between — the misty deep ! 
And still shall heart so true, so true remain. 

And so my lover, though the mists arise 

And roll all dark between, and blind our eyes, 
And dim may seem the promised land so fair — 

Tho' storms aiise and chill the balmy air ; 
Yet when two hearts shall beat with tend'rest love 

These clouds that rise between their Constance prove. 
And while this world may sunder'd keep 

These two that need each other, yet to weep 
Or sadly moan, will not a vict'ry gain. 

But when far out, safe o'er the unknown sea, 

We'll love for aye! Our spirits ever free ! 
We know, my lover, love gives " bitter sweet " 

When love like ours, so oft must coldly meet. 
But patient waiting through the mystic years 

May bring surcease of sorrow, dry the tears 
And full fruition bring. Then let us be 

Forever true and noble, and then for you and me 
Must come the peace and happiness we seek. 



48 



UNITED. 
Lines to Nora. 

We stood together, Nora, 

The waves were rolling high, 
'Twas after years of absence — 

A long and sad good-bye ; 
The clouds hung o'er the mountain 

The mists rose o'er the sea. 
While clouds of doubt about our heaits ' 

Were dark to you and me. 

The waves in low complaining. 

That broke in dashing spray, 
Told not of greater anguish 

Thau filled our hearts that day ; 
I think the wild commotion — 

Of troubled, star-lit sea — 
Was like the waves of hope and fear. 

And doubt, that swept o'er me. 

I clasped your hand, my Nora, 

It trembled at my touch, 
A thrill of hope swept o'er me. 

Ah ! had I hoped too much ? 
The waves were surging at our feet. 

Wild tossed the foaming spray. 
The tide ebbed out toward other shores, 

We seemed to drift away. 

And while the waters surged and moaned, 
We watched the shining waves. 



49 



While memory's tide rushed o'er our souls, 

With hopes of other days ; 
Forgetting pride and sorrow, 

And all the years between, 
The love of youth came back again, 

And all we once had been. 

We loved ! I know, dear Nora, 

For each a glad surprise 
Was felt in that strange meeting. 

I gazed in your dear eyes 
And understood that silence deep ; 

Around us sunshine fell — 
The hope of years fulfilled at last. 

You loved me fond and well. 



THE HEART OF MY LOVE. 

There are mysteries deep that lie hid in the stars. 

There are secrets that green billows keep, 
But not greater than those in a true woman's heart, 

Filled with love that is holy and deep. 
There are pages whose writing I never may read. 

In the heart of my love, true and sweet. 
For its secrets are deep as those of the stars. 

Or those hid in the waves at my feet. 

But the heart of my darling at last shall unfold, 

In the light of a passion like mine ; 
'Tis a beautiful volume I yearn so to read. 

That the key to the dasp I shall find. 



50 



We know the mistake that our hearts once had marie 
Are borne out on the stream of the years, 

And the dross of a love we once thought to be true 
Is now gone, with its doubts and its fears. 

Now, I know, in the dreamy, soft after-glow sweet, 

When the heart's wildest passions all rest, 
Is the time when my soul hath the need of you most. 

When our love is the truest and best ; 
We have learned the saddest of lessons in life, 

While the years have been drifting away ; 
We realize now all that lesson hath cost. 

As w^e stand here at the close ol the day. 

The dark night of the past hath been filled with unrest. 

But the sun-light of morning now breaks. 
While the glory of hope fills my life with its wine, 

And my spirit a new purpose takes. 
See,my love, the dark clouds from the mountains now roll, 

And the mist shall soon rise from the sea, 
While the sorrow that clouded my heart is dispelled 

In the sunshine my soul finds iu thee. 



PARTING. 



I'll hear no more the loving words 
That you have spoken oft to me, 

The sweetest I have ever heard, 
You've told me by the star-lit sea. 



51 



But I must go, my home is there — 

Though gloomy mountains rise between ; 

Yet shall I hear your tender words, 

Whene're the sun-set's gold shall gleam. 

Yes, I must liasten far away, 

For you have woven 'round my life 

The woof that by a magic spell. 
Transforms all duty into strife. 

And so, farewell ! in peace you stay ; 

All sorrow I shall take with me ; 
Yet evr'y western breeze that blows, 

Will waft some tender thought to thee. 



EXPECTATION. 

Ethel. Ethel, pretty Ethel, 
Gazing o'er the waters blue, 

Wond'ring when some ship returning 
Comes to bring her lover true. 

Thoughtful Ethel, fair and youthful, 
Wand'ring by the tossing sea, 

Gazing out beyond the breakers — 
O'er the deep's immensity. 

It all seems a sea of glory. 

Far beyond the foaming spray, 

Where, defined the line of breakers, 
Shows wheje ocean meets the bay. 



52 



And I read, my little maiden, 

All your heart most longs to say : 

"Will e'er come my ship all laden. 
With a wealth of love some day 1 " 

Yes, far o'er the bounding billow, 
Conies a bark with snowy sail ; 

Precious treasure that it brings you, 
All your heart shall joyful hail. 

For you are a blithesome maiden, 
And the sounding of the sea 

Of the life to which you hasten. 
Seems to murmur pleasantly. 

And your heart shall go to meet it 
Far out o'er the bounding wave; 

All your steps of life shall greet it — 
Walking with it to the grave. 

But beware ! my darling Ethel, 
All along the shell-strewn shore, 

See you not the tangled sea-weed. 
Hear you not the billows roar! 

Listen to the deep, wierd music. 
As the waves break at your feet, 

Tones of sadness intermingle 

With the tones of hope that greet. 

O, my Ethel, happy Ethel, 

Wrecks are cast up by the waves, 

Telling true of dire disaster. 
And of lonely ocean graves. 



POEMS. 53 



But I think, as o'er the billows, 
Far you gaze with loDging eyes, 

Soon the "snowy sail" apj^earing. 
Brings your lover true and wise. 



OPPORTUNITY. 

O, white- winged ships, that sailed by me 

No cargo brought, none took away, 
Say, will you ever come again 

To take my work — forgive my play? 
You reached a port whence no return — 

I hear the answer o'er the sea ; 
Regrets and tears will not avail — 

You sailed to Port Eternity. 

But other ships are sailing by, 

They too, may never come again. 
And so I'll hail them as they fly, 

Like birds. of passage o'er the main. 
A warning sound is in the waves. 

And while I listen to its tone, 
That echoes through the ocean caves. 

And on the sands so sadly moan. 

Resolve to send good cargoes forth 

By ships that anchor soon and sure. 
With treasures I have garnered up 

To be kept there safe and secure. 
O, white-winged ships, you passed me by. 

And I'll regret it while I live ; 
Each wave that dashes on the shore. 

Will bring regrets, and make me grieve. 



54 



THE VIOLET'S LOVE. 

Close to earth a violet blossomed, 

Yet it raised its modest eyes, 
Upward gazed tli rough cloudless ether, 

Draw Ing color from the skies ; 
While its golden heart so tiuy. 

Like a star that shone above, 
Where the violet gazed with longing, 

'Till 'twas like its shining love. 
But it sighed : " My humble mission 

Is to bloom one little hou", 
While fair star, thou art immortal, 

Grand thy work is, great thy power, 
Brief my day of scent and blossom, 

Filled with dew y tears my eyes ; 
Yet I long to be immortal. 

Like the stars in purple skies. 

Mine is such a lowely mission, ' 

Just to breathe an incense sweet, 
Here, amid the humble grasses. 

Trampled down by careless feet." 
Soon there came a gentle zephyr, 

Sent from lands so fair and far, 
Wafting fragrance from the violet 

Off 'ring incense to the star. 

From the star the faintest shimmer — 

Just one little golden ray. 
Touched the heart that dearly lov'd it, 

Then went wand'ring on its way. 



POEMS. 55 

Soon there came a careless footstep, 

Treading on the violet blue, 
Crnshing all its fragile petals, 

Trampling on its heart so true. 

Then the summer air of evening. 

Bore the violets dying sigh 
Upward floating, through blue ether 

Where its star begemmed the sky. 

So 'tis well we learn a lesson 

From the violet, true and wise. 
Though to earth our life-work keeps us. 

Our ideals mount the skies ; 
Hearts reflect the lights they worship. 

Whether sun, oi- moon, or star. 
What we long for, we attain to. 

Though above us bright and far. 



THE END CROWNS THE WORK. 

[ ('lass Motto : Written for Senior Class, Willamette University.] 

To-day we leave thee, Alma Mater — 

Mingling tears of joy and grief. 
We now take uji a broader life-work, 

It may be long, it may be brief ; 
Tho' our work may be unfinished, 

As we feel it is to-day, 
Yet our Father knows our efforts. 

And our labor day by day. 



56 POEMS. 

Life is work as well as sunshine, 

Patient work thro' days and years 
That wins the crown for which we're striving 

Eewards the toil, the strife and tears. 
So, all thro' this life's swift journey, 

Where'er works and faith be found, 
Will reward tho' slow in coming. 

Sometime evr'y effort crown. 

When the sheaves of life are garner'd, 

When the harv^est work is done, 
The tired reapers, sad and weary. 

Seek the crown their brows have won ; 
Shall the prize for which we labor'd. 

Diploma from the Father's hand 
Be given us, a shining guerdon, 

Passport to the better land. 



BABY HANDS. 

These baby hands, soft baby hand, 

What power from weal or woe. 
May not one day these hands command ? 

No power of mine may know. 
You're chubby, fair and dimpled now, 

And frail as any flower — 
You yet may lead an army on 

To victory, death or power. 

These little hands so pure and sweet, 

May guide the Ship of State 
Through troubled waters wide and deep, 



57 



Oppression's chains may break ; 
May point the way to heaven's throne, 

Within the gates of pearl, 
May stretch in benediction forth, 

Above a kneeling- world. 

These little hands ! a shndder thrills 

Within this heart of mine, 
What if — but I brook no i/'s 

A future grand is thine. 
What have I said ? O, Father, dear, 

Forgive my wayward heart, 
If but in worldly victories, 

I'd give my child a part. 

These hands may work a fearful curse, — 

The future's ^'eiled from me ; 
Temptation's dark may overcome 

Without true gi-ace from thee. 
Then may thy grace to him be given, 

May every cause of right 
Have aid of these two little hands, — 

Then work them with thy might. 

Well, baby dear, these thoughts of mine. 

Mere castles in the air, — 
Have filled my soul with longings deep. 

With earnest, voiceless prayer ; 
But ah ! my Father knows my love ; 

He knows my weakness too. 
He knows, and he shall guide us both 

In paths we mjiy not rue. 



58 



HEARTSEASE. 



I have gathered thee, Heartsease, so fragrant and fair, 
Thy name is suggestive of wonderful power, 

Were it true, then thy purple and gold I would wear. 
Nor would cast thee aside for one fleeting hour. 

It is said, too, that thoughts from thy i)etals shall spring, 
And I doubt not 'tis truth, as I look in each face, 

Inspiration about thee close seemeth to cling 

That comes from thy beauty, and fragrance and grace. 

If the sorrowful yearning and passionate souls, 
Could find in thee peace, when so full of unrest, 

Could'stthou ense human hearts when thy blossoms unfold, 
There are thousands would wear thee and find them 
selves blest. 

My heart beats, responsive to tenderest thoughts, 
O, beautiful Heartsease, all potent thy spell, 

Thou calmest the tumult that raged in my soul, 
By prophecy true that you ever foretell. 

Of a time when all buds, in the radiant glow 
Of the sun that's eternal — in life and in light, — 

Shall awaken in fragrance and beauty to blow. 

That have been rudely broken and wounded in. life. 

And tlio' quickly you wither, aye soon do ye fade, 
Pure thoughts from the pausies pass into my soul, 

And I feel that a something all deathless is mine, 
As I gaze on the blossoms, white, pui-ple and gold. 



POEMS. 59 

Tby blossoms are fading, the germ that's within, 
Bringeth forth other flowers much fairer than these, 

As I read the sweet promise of hope that you bring, 
Comprehending the wisdom that nam'd the Heartsease. 



A SONG OF THE SOUL. 

Somehow, all day long on the soft balmy air, 

A song comes to me, from, — I do not know where ; 

I find I am list'ning its cadences sweet. 

At home, or abroad as I walk on the street ; 

It comes I am thinking from realms that are far, 

Where spirits are gathered — some far-away star. 

I hear the soft rustle of gleaming white wings, 

I feel the sweet calm some freed spirit brings. 

Like essence of poetry, music and song. 

It sing, ah ! it sings sweet and low, yet is strong ; 

It whispers a tale in my listening ear, — 

A beautiful story I'm longing to hear. 

The spirit within understandeth its tone. 
And answers the voice that the soft winds have borne ; 
They answer and call — are communing with me, — 
My spirit imprison'd, the other that's free. 
Sometimes though this captive within longs to fly, 
Unfurl airy wing and mount up through the sky. 

Yes, longs to be free as a bird, as it floats 

Through the gold-tinted cloud8,while singing sweet notes. 

Suppress'd shall it be though this life shall be long? 



60 



And only when free shall it burst into song. 
I wait, but not idl'y, the voice that shall sing, 
I fold, but not sadly, the free-soaring wing ; 

I work while I wait, for the time must soon come, 
'Twill be while the roses of earth-life yet bloom ; 
This eaptive within holds the wish of my soul — 
The longing unuttered so shy, yet so bold, 
The spirit revealing, with voice low and sweet, 
Is telling of victories over defeat. 

The spirit that calling, ambition may be, — 

I long to expiess what it promises me. 

But soul-speech may never bi/ tongue be express'd, 

Tho' sweet is its promise, it still brings unrest. 

The time is now coming, already faint gleams 

Illumne the sky of my beautiful dreams ; 

No laurel of poet may e'er press my brow. 

But songs I shall sing that I'm dreaming of now. 



THE OUT -GOING SHIPS. 

A stately ship, with sails unfurl' d, 

Is passing out to sea, 
I've watched her long ; she rounds the point 

And soon is lost to me. 

I watch' d her go, how swift her Hight, 
That steady seemed and true — 

What winds of fate adverse may blow 
From o'er the waters blue. 



POEMS. 61 



O, will she gain the distant port, 

Some far-off sunny shore, 
Spice-laden isles in southern seas ! 

Will she return once more ! 

The sky is clear, the waves are calm. 
She sailed out with the tide ; 

With hope we wait her unknoM-n fate 
From over ocean wide. 

I too have sent forth stately ships 

But one came not again, 
It was the pride of all my ships, 

I sent out o'er the main. 

The sailors sung, " Ahoy ! Ahoy ! ' ' 

Upon the morning air, 
I heard ''ahoy," with strange wild joy 

Waft o'er the bay so fair. 

I sent her forth with cargo worth 
The best my life hath known, 

My dearest hopes, my faith was there. 
Borne in my ship that's gone. 

I gaze far out o'er sun-lit sea. 

Beyond Columbia's bar, 
Where breakers lash the foaming tide. 

Where sail'd my barque afar. 

Alas ! no more on this same shore. 

My ship may anchor cast ; 
At break of day she sail'd away. 

With dreams too bright to last. 



62 



Some wrecks are cast upon the shore, 

And some go down at sea ; 
Will my barque gain the wish'd-for port, 

Return with wealth to me? 



A COMMON THEME— HOME. 

Of all the pleasures earth can give. 

That's told in song or story, 
The one that's nearest perfect bliss. 

And fills the soul with glory ; 

Is that sweet realm all beautiful, 

Where helpful angels come. 
Found in the sanctuary sweet. 

Of quiet, peaceful home. 

Our truest friends we find at home. 

When very great our need, 
And though but nnmb'ring two or three, 

Yet these are friends indeed. 

These shall not fail us, many will. 

But if at home we meet 
The humble angels, peace and love. 

Will life be calm and sweet. 

But if one blessing only, mine. 

And all else be denied me, 
Give me dear home with two or three 

Brave, true friends beside me. 



POEMS. 63 

IMAGINATION. 

This wondrous gift of love divine, 

Immortal mind contix^lling, 
Is no delusive, idle dream, 

Like clouds at sunset rolling. 

It weaves a spell o'er ev'ry soul, 

An influence past our knowing, 
It comes from God, all pure, divine. 

The Father's love bestowing. 

Imagination's goldeu light 

Tints earth, and sky, and river. 
Like distant star-shine, gleaming bright, 

It glows and burns forever. 



CHRISTMAS ECHOES. 

There's a wonderful song in the air to-night, 

A song that an angel sings. 
It is loud and clear and thrilleth the heart 

With tiding of glorious things. 
There's the sound of rushing of wings to-night, 

There are tidings of peace to men, 
While the angels sing of the beautiful light 

Of a star shining o'er Bethlehem. 

Yes, a glittering star in the sky to-night, 
Whose glory fills earth and heaven. 

Outshines the fair moon with her brilliant crest, 
A herald of life 'tis given. 



64 



This star in its glory arose for the race. 

Far shines its light ! the bright morning star, 
It seemeth to shine through all time and all space, 

All worlds it illumines afar. 

O, glorious star ! effulgent thy beam, 

Thy splendor shall never grow dim, 
We follow afar thy glittering sheen, 
For surely thou leadeth to Him. 
The shepherds are watching their flocks to-night, 

A wonderful choir they hear. 
They see that white star in the east so bright. 

While music rings loud and near. 

The heavens are glowing with radient light, 

While up beyond orient bars, 
The heavenly music which rings on the night, 

Now seemeth to come from the stars. 
As wise men of old came with gifts, O, king, 

Of frankincense, myrrh and bright gold, 
Our gifts to thy altar, dear Lord we bring, 

The treasure most precious we hold. 

Pure incense ascends to thy throne upon high, 

The incense of love that's divine. 
One bringeth his faith, while another his work, 

As offerings are brought to thy shrine. 
One liveth a martyr his whole life long. 

To a principle stern, untrue. 
While one with the love that casteth out fear 

Finds much in the vinyard to do, 



POEMS. 65 

Another, in doubt, simply clings to the cross, 

With scarcely the courage to pray. 
Yet the truth surely come to each earnest soul 

Eevealing the light and the way. 
And still we are offering gifts at thy shrine. 

Of frankincense, spices and gold, 
And still ringing out are the sweet Christmas chimes, 

Again is the old stoi-y told. 

For light of that star shone forth in the world 

Through the ages before Jesus came, 
On all sacred things on this earth shown that light — 

N^o matter what creed or what name. 
It has brought to us knowledge of all noble things, 

Since the dawn of creation began, — 
Its star-beams of light shall permeate earth 

'Till the last generation of man. 

Tiie vibrating notes of immortal life. 

Are tones which we hear in the song. 
And the serajjhs are hymning the same songs of praise. 

They sung in the ages long gone. 
In the depths of the sky the same stars shine. 

That shone i)i the blue heavens then. 
While our hearts are still turning to the same blessed 
shrine. 

Whose light is the life of all men. 

Chime on Christmas bells, all ye stars in the sky. 

With flames that are burning so bright. 
Are darkness compared to the real morning star. 

Whose rays are the life and the light. 



66 POEMS. 

Then come, let us bring here our offerings pure, 
The best that oar hearts can e'er bring, 

To shrine of the Truth, which shines for all men. 
For Truth alone is our king. 



THE MOON AND STAR. 

Once when the new moon shone like silver, 

So bright in the West afar, 
And seemed to be closely followed 

By one palely glittering star, — 

As over mj^ shoulder I saw it, 

I thought of the ominous sign, 
And made a good wish for the morrow ; 

How fond was that sweet wish of mine. 

Then brighter, but later each evening. 
The fair moon shone over the sea, 

While paler and softer the star-light, 
Because it was farther from me. 

I thought of the many lights flashing, 
So bright are, because they are near. 

The star may be dim, but comstant. 
With flame ever steady aud clear. 

While bright is the moon's lamp of silver, 

That flashes its i-adiant beam, 
The star is much better to wish by, 

More steady and true does it gleam. 

Though wishing is idle and foolish, 
And wishes so seldom come true. 

The full moon ne'er finds us much wiser. 
Than when we had wished with the new. 



POEMS. G7 



. DEDICATION. 

[Of Unity Church, 1891.] 

Father, in thy presence now 

We have come with hearts aflame 

With the love that emanates 
From thy great and holy name. 

Let no worldy thoughts intrude, 
But with spirits pure and free. 

Like the rosebud kissed by dew, 
May our souls responsive be. 

Now the emanations pure, 

By the christ'niug from above, 

Gives thy children power divine ; 
Fills our souls with peace and love 

As before Thy shrine we bow. 
Every heart casts out all fear, 

Knowing well the tender love 
Of our Father now and here. 

In no kingdom far away 
Seek we for a heaven pure. 

But within our souls shall be 
All of love that shall endure. 

In this house we dedicate 
To thy service, we shall find 

That the service of our God 
Is the service of mankind. 



TRUE BAPTISM. 

There came to the Master, in days long past. 
Two chosen desciples a favor to ask, 
For seats in his kingdom, the loftiest place, 
They knew not his was a kingdom of grace. — 
And thought of him as a temporal king. 

The Master with pitying eyes looked up, 
He knew to the dregs he must drink the cup, 
And knowing they sought but an earthly place, 
Divine compassion illumned his face. 
And tender his questioning. 

He said to them : " Can ye endure 

My baptism, coming so soon and sure 1 " 

Then quickly they answered, impulsive each man 

" We can, dear Lord, we are able, we can.'' 

And they meet his look with firm resolve. 
The dear Lord gazed with sorrowing smile 
Into unseen things, nor spake for awhile. 
But when he spake in pittying tone, 
The list'ning angels must have known 
The Master knew he must suffer alone. 

And still'd their harps in heaven's great dome. 

Then gently he said to his followers there : 
" Yes, much of my baptism ye shall share, 
A firey baptism of trial and of pain 
Must be your portion, e'er ye shall gain 
That spiritual baptism. The Christ in you. 
As it doth in me, shall at last subdue. 
And ye your worthiness then shall prove." 



69 



We are desciples, the Christ too is ours. 
Develops each soul's most spiritual powers, 
We learn as did they of that far olden time, 
That the kingdom on earth is the kingdom divine. 
That life is a bajitism of trial of pain, 
And only through baptism the kingdom we gain. 
But the H0I3' Spirit that the Father hath given, 
Eeveals^to the soul the kingdom of heaven 
Which is ever the kingdom of love. 



ASPIRATION. 

Our father in heaven, 
Thy love evermore — 
My soul fills with rapture, 
With holiness, power. 
I would live in thy presence 
And never grow cold. 
Ever prove by my life-work 
Thy grace in my soul. 

Thy love doth encompass 
My being around ; 
Ko fears can assail me, 
I^ofortune can frown, — 
Come sorrow or blessing. 
The heart on thee stayed 
With faith for its anchor 
Cannot be dismayed. 



70 



The portals of heaven 
Opened earthward to me, 
My faith and my longing 
Reach upward to thee ; 
Thou leadeth me, Father, 
By thy guiding hand 
Through valley, o'er mountain, 
To thy promised land. 



A SONNET. 



I've dreamed of a love that was pure and sweet, 
A something holy, that I should meet, 

A love that I should not rue ; 
I cannot now tell of all I have dreamed, 
Nor how beautiful, pure, the vision has seemed, 

And now has my dream come true f 
The answer I read in your dear, dear, eyes. 
While all my soul in a glad surprise, 

Fulfllleth that dream in you. 



ADELIA. 



'Tis Christmas eve, Adelia, 
The moon is shining bright. 

Its glim'ring sheen surrounds me 
And -it stirs my soul to-night. 

A night long gone, Adelia, 
Comes back to me again. 



POEMS. 71 

With sad sweet mem'ries, darling, 
With joy that yet is pain. 

I never knew your heart, love, 

Until the seal was set ; 
I feared to risk ray fate, dear. 

My soul but reaps regret ; 
I read the story, 'Delia, — 

Wherever we may meet, — 
Your life is brave and true, dear. 

While mine but knows defeat. 

Was I to blame, ray darling, — 

For love is ever blind, — 
To think your wealth and beauty 

Would part your fate from mine ? 
You walk through life so queenly. 

You act so well your part, 
He dwells with you serenely, — 

But I can claim your heart. 

Though love on earth brings anguish. 

It fills high heaven with bliss ; 
Our souls will meet, Adelia, 

In other realms than this. 
The moonlight falls, Adelia, 

The Christmas stars are bright ; 
The star of peace that's shining, 

Illumnes ray soul to-night. 

The Ohristraas tide is flowing, — 
Is flowing lull and free ; 



72 



I'm going, dearest, going, — 
Reach out your hands to me,- 

And know that for thy coming 
A ransomed spirit waits, 

A little while, my darling. 
We'll meet within the gates. 



KfJOWliEDGE. 



KHOWLsEDGE. 



[ A lecture delivered before the State Teachers' Institute, at Astoria, Oregon, 
July 11, 1885.J 

Knowledge is the freemasonry of a condition where all 
are equal, and is indicated by a rank of mind which must 
take precedence to all external rank. The common-place 
quotation that " knowledge is power," is as great a truth as 
was ever uttered by wise sage, or learned philosopher ; yet 
knowledge without wisdom is not always a power for good. 
While knowledge is the act of knowing the clear and cer- 
tain perceptions of truth, wisdom is rather the result ot 
and capacity of making due use of knowledge. The i)oet 
Oowper makes a nice distinction, when he says: ''Knowl- 
edge dwells in heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
wisdom in minds attentive to their own, knowledge is the 
material with which wisdom builds, and is proud that he 
has learned so much, while wisdom is humble that he 
knows no more," 

This convention of a body of teachers is not only to gain 
new ideas, more accurate knowledge ; but also the wisdom 
to properly apply it, — for it is the wise use of knowledge 
more than its possession, that determine its worth. There 
is a great difference between imparting and absorbing 
knowledge, for the one is external, the other internal 
growth. He who simply absorbs it grows from without, 
only possessing talent to acquire ; while the within original 
man has genius to impart. The advent of knowledge has 



78 KNOWLEDGE. 

ever been a record of trials, tears, heartaches, and often 
bloodshed, before its establishment and maintenance; for it 
reaches its final triumph only through suffering, while its 
practical use is at the sacrifice of ignorance, and this is too 
often at the sacrifice of innocence. Every improvement, 
every advancement in civilization, injures some to benefit 
others. The highway of knowledge is not always strewn 
with roses. Conquering science in its onward, triumphal 
march ruthlessly tramples down whatever opposes its 
progress, whether ignorance or innocence. 

Stephen Montague says: "You diffuse knowledge and 
the world grows brighter, but discontent and poverty re- 
places ignorance. One generation is sacrificed to the next.*' 
History teaches that from the earliest ages to the present it 
has often taken ten thousand such lives as yours and mine 
to accomplish one of God's eternal purposes. The only 
consolation we derive is that sacrifices now will result in 
future blessings. Our present liberties and blessings came 
by the martyrdom of past generations. If to the advocates 
of the knowledge of truth came the actual realization of 
the suffering of those sacrificed e'er it be established, many 
times they could not have the ^courage to conquer, but 
would consider it mercy to let ignorance reign in her 
dark dominion. 

Macauley teaches that with the advance of liberalism the 
human race grows everywhere happier and more enlight- 
ened. Sir Archibald Allison teaches that liberalism means 
revolution and anarchy. James Anthony Fronde says: 
"Both these views may be false, each may be sincere, but 
he unconsciously droits what does not suit his argument 



KNOWLEDGE. 79 

and fuses such facts as go to make his picture effective." 
All labor-saving- machinery upon its first introduction 
throws thousands out of employment. Every invention, 
every revolution of the wheels of progression's car of 
knowledge, crushes thousands who are ignorant, yet inno- 
cent. The civilization of new countries is death to the 
native savage races. Yet events wait not for individuals 
or races of men. These facts are great mysteries, for our 
finite minds cannot comprehend the dark "whys" of 
God, so we wait, and waiting, wonder at the strange provi- 
dence of "Him whose ways are indeed past finding out." 
Owen Meredith says: "Life begins and ends in doubt," 
while another writes, "Doubt is the offspring of know- 
ledge." We know that doubt must overturn simplicity and 
lead to investigation of truth. Shakespeare says: ''Know- 
ledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven," and again, 
"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft 
might win." There is some truth in this last quotation, 
but I believe our fears are the "traitors," and doubts are 
sometimes friends that point to truth. Geothe says: "That 
is holy which binds many souls together." Therefore know- 
ledge, which is the strongest tie that can bind and bless 
society in a great universal brotherhood, is eminently holy, 
for increased scientific and religious knowledge develops 
the wealth and progress of the soul, and increases a desire 
for cultivation. Progress begets progress, for the mind is 
full of the desire to project itself forever onward into new 
fields of research. As soon as one truth is demonstrated it 
searches the unknown, in the expectation of finding another 
and greater. Thought cannot be confined, for the soul of 
thought travels free as the music of the waves oi- the light 



80 KNOWLEDGE. 

of the eternal stars. And though custom does conquer this 
world of matter, it cannot control the greater world of 
thought, where our true natures exist. And so mankind 
have learned to exalt fredom of thought. And there is no 
law to govern this freedom, for law is only to restrain 
license. Free schools, free speech, free thought, is a nobler 
freedom than its martj^rs ever dreamed. And so old things 
are passing away, and we are advancing to a new heaven 
and new earth of thought, of intellectual reign. But an 
increase of knowledge is but an increase of doubt and per- 
plexity, and he who invokes knowledge from her urn calls 
forth a power entailing great responsibilities. Yet from 
early youth we are taught to gain this wonderful power to 
improve the intellect, which alone is heir of immortality 
and which is just as immortal now as it will ever become, 
for the once awakened soul dies not. It passes through 
psychological changes, but the soul's language knows no 
word for death — there is no death for that which wills and 
thinks. Ah ! knowledge is powerful, and can pierce the 
distant heavens and explore much of the realm of mind, yet 
fails to peer for one moment into that realm which is so far 
away beyond the stars, yet which is so close about us that 
the fluttering heart-beat, the tremulous breath we draw is 
the boundary of that world which spirit alone may enter, 
and though we have all the knowledge of the past to aid 
us, we have not the wisdom to truthfully pierce, one mo- 
ment of that future. So why not tone down our arrogance, 
confess our ignorance and simply say: ''I do not know.'" 

But it is the nature of man to question all things, and not 
only to understand the truth, but to question why it is 
truth. 



KNOWLEDGE. 81 

Truth is the offspring of knowledge and research, and its 
birth is through tiavail and suffering; and it is only as we 
become familiar with its justice that it secures happiness. 
We do not always know when and where truth may be 
found, for, often in the past has truth been wrapped up in 
the vagaries of a dispised creed, or rejected religion. We 
find many of the dim utterances of Confucius, Gautama. 
Zoroaster and Mahomet, and many other religions and phil- 
osophies as'.tirmly established in the accepted religions and 
creeds of the present day, as are the vague if inspired 
utterances of the Hebrew prophets. Knowledge demands 
martyrs, and men have suffered martyrdom all ages for its 
advancement. Oftentimes not so much for truth as for 
some little narrow sect or creed, the effoit put forth, being 
to do good according to their peculiar creed. Yet while many 
a great heart is ill assorted with a narrow creed, our creeds 
are generally in harmony with our intellects. Each new 
creed-maker goes to the Bible and takes what he wants to 
answer his purpose, if he can find it there, and adds what 
he thinks ; and the Bible, well manipulated, will prove 
any doctrine in this world. So divisions arise. Why, if 
facts were as plain as some would have us believe, Christ's 
prayer that all his people miglit be one, would have been 
answered long ago, but almost 1900 years since that prayer 
was uttered finds them still very far apart. O, if we could 
sweep these little narrow prejudices forever from our souls, 
and stand forth in the freedom of our God, whoever, where- 
ever, lohatever he may be— eating without fear the fruits of 
the tree of knowledge and of life — irrespective of men or 
creeds; then indeed might wisdom be justified of her works. 
When knowledge divest> theology of some of its inconsis- 



82 KNOWLEDGE. 

tencies, then shall we be able to understand and see clearly 
the germ of truth that lies within. Trnth, like a kernel of 
wheat, occupies but a small space in the universe, but 
there are more possibilities of bread for earth's hungering 
thousands in it than in all the chaff in the world. One 
germ of truth has more salvation in it than all the theology 
this side of the grave, — and there will be no theology the 
other side. And so we think and doubt, and perhaps lose 
much faith, for earnest thought is often the death-blow to 
unquestioning faith ; for, upon investigation we are obliged 
to overturn much that we have accepted as knowledge, but 
which wisdom dare not apply, or, some of our accepted 
theology. Truth demands the sacrifice of one. Which 
shall it be ? While we do not need a new religion, we do 
need a great reformation of the old, just as our school- 
books, maps and charts need revising once in a while to 
meet the demands of the age. Ah! we do not know what 
realms awakened thought leads to, for the shadows of 
mystery and the bright gleams of light chase each other 
ever. While there is always an unsolved mystery just 
ahead of us, there is a light follows to dispel the gloom, but 
the brighter the dispelling light the more clearly it enables 
us to discern a greater mistery just beyond us still. It is 
just as absurd to ask a man to be entertained by a primer 
all his days as to ask him to cling to old beliefs after he has 
outgrown them. There is some truth in all creeds, but all 
of truth in none. 

James Anthony Froude says: "It is certain that com- 
monwealths, institutions, creeds, are mortal as we ourselves; 
that they must pass through the same stages of youth, 
maturity, corruption and death as each of us pass 



KNOWLEDGE. 83 

tlirough. It may be that the future may be like the 
past and that to everything that has an organized existence 
there is an appointed growth, decline and end. If theology 
was rid of the rubbish of superstition and prejudice which 
envelops it there would be but a small grain left. For our 
theology is founded on i^agan mythology. We do not do 
away with their gods, we only substitute our idea of God 
in place of theirs. Yet our ideal of God is much higher, 
purer and better than theirs, but future generations will 
come much nearer his real attributes than have we, for we 
have not all of knowledge yet. While firmly believing in 
a God of purity, justice and mercy, we may claim it as our 
right to doubt much of the teachings of men respecting 
him. It is not best for us to brand as infidels or skeptics 
those who, believing in a God of goodness and wisdom, 
yet, wlio are honest enough to stand up in the face of oppo- 
sition and honestly declare I do not understand him. There 
are mysteries which will l)e mysteries still, even though 
tliis intellect, this immortality within us, progress to the 
knowledge of gods. The best part of all or any religon, that, 
simmered down, teaches a pure and noble life is salvation 
and security. Man, by his divisions of the sheep from the 
goats, makes many mistakes, but he who is perfect in wis- 
dom makes none, and even though we be surprised at his 
divisions they are just, for the critics up there are just and 
thoroughly understand humanity. So in wise beliefs we 
need fear no evil, and even though we err, we need not so 
much dread justice as hope for mercy. There are many 
ruined temples still standing whose gods and creeds 
crumbled into dust ages ago. So some men stand to-day, 
silent empty temples, representing a vanished delusion, or 



84 KNOWLEDGE. 

are floating along in their little ark of salvation, with all 
the rest of the world drowning outside. The human heart 
is full of strange delusions, but the greatest are the creeds 
representing its beliefs and prejudices. 

The seeds of knowledge may slumber long before the 
fruits of wisdom ripen in the soul, yet the germ of life may 
be there. Kernels of wheat have been found in an(!ient 
tombs where the germ had kept the secret of life hidden 
well through the long centuries. And there is a beautiful 
legend of the seed of the heliotrope being found in the hand 
of a mummy, which upon being planted sprung forth into 
fragrance and beauty after thousands of years ; waiting the 
time and opportunity, in the far future, when for unborn 
generations it shoald at last blossom in rare perfection and 
diffuse its wonderous perfume. So may the germ of truth 
be held back for ages in the vice-like grip of some grim 
skeleton hand of a dead, yet embalmed doctrine, before the 
knowledge of its fragrance and beauty is shed forth for 
mankind. 

There may be nothing new under the sun, and you teachers 
may not be discoverers of new realms, unless the mind of 
childhood reveal it unto you ; but you may be successful 
in the faculty of imparting the discoveries of the know^ledge 
of others, and he who arouses in the mind of the child the 
longing after the attainment of knowledge, comes as near 
as man can come to the creative attributes of God. 

He who imparts an intelligent apprehension, gives a bet- 
ter understanding of the living languages all around us as 
they are, a knowledge that meets the wants and incidents 
of daily life, is a more desirable teacher than he who 



KNOWLEDGE. 85 

si^ends so much time on the uncertain history of the past, 
or the dead languages of an accomplished era. There are 
those who seem to possess the faculty of showing off a 
child' signorance much more than bringing out, or increas- 
ing his knowledge. The teacher is the moral and mental 
whetstone, on which the child sharpens his wits, therefore 
it becomes necessary that between the disciplined mind of 
the teacher, and the untutored mind of the child, there 
should be a bond of sympathy. Love, the central emotion, 
around which all other emotions revolve, and from which 
all nobler emotions evolve, is the bridge which spans the 
chasm between the intelligence of the teacher and the ig- 
noiance of the child. The educated, cultivated mind 
transmits knowledge, and heart reacts upon heart, and 
mind upon mind ; the simple, childish mind draws upon 
the intellectuality of the stronger and imi3arts freshness 
and originality to that which is in danger of becoming 
merely booky. 

The most successful teacher has not, necessarily, the great- 
est amount of knowledge, but the wisdom to properly 
apply well what he does understand. In instructing and 
benefiting others, it becomes necessary that we stop to 
consider, and realize, if we can, the probable difference 
between the fiber of individual souls, or our own soul, 
from the multitude of those around us. 

One of the most beneficent gifts bestowed upon humanity 
is adaptibility. Unless one have adaptability and can 
gracefully conform to surrounding circumstances, know- 
ledge may as often prove a detriment as a blessing. Yet to 
possess adaptibility one must have quick perceptions and 



86 KNOWLEDGE. 

readilj' read liuiiian nature. The teacher of the young has 
for study before him volume first, of the wonderful book of 
humanity, a sort of primer, whose pages, seemingly so sim- 
ple, are sometimes written in strange characters, difficult to 
understand and translate. Perhaps the child is more like 
the mental arithmetic, which is full of difficult problems; 
but the mental arithmetic, thoroughly understood, furnishes 
the key to the higher mathematics, and the primer is but 
the prelude to all that follows in the great field of litera- 
ture. So the mind of childhood, appreciated and under- 
stood, furnishes the key to all the more intricate phases of 
youth, manhood and age that follow, and he who under- 
stands children holds the golden key that unlocks the great 
heart of humanity. Christ taught that inasmuch as ye 
help the least of these " ye have done it unto me." 

In my short-sighted, human way ( and that is all the way 
we have of looking at things ), I have often wondered what 
condition we, as a race, would have been in if Eve had not 
eaten of the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge. 
According to a literal rendering of the story of the Garden 
of Eden, God's original intention was that the race ot man- 
kind should be without knowledge, although he planted the 
tree of knowledge of good and evil in the midst of that 
beautilul garden, whose beauties the inhabitants without 
linowledge could not appreciate or understand. Here 
spread before them in perfection, was nature with, her won- 
derful lessons to man untranslatable, without one ray of 
knowledge to lighten the darkness of his ignorance. Man 
in this state was innocent, not from any good or evil in his 
nature, but because like the infant he knew no wrong. Par- 
adise was a garden of innocence, because of ignorance. 



KNOWLEDGE. 87 

But the serpent, wisdoMi, bade Eve taste the tempting fruit 
of the tree of knowledge. With the ancients the serpent 
was symbolical of wisdom, and also indicated subtlety. 
Wisdom charms us still, and by its subtlety knowledge plans 
and works. The Great Teacher when sending his disciples 
forth to teach, admonishes them to be wise and gentle, in 
the remarkable woi-ds : " Be ye wise as serpents and harm- 
less as doves." Did you, whose profession it is to instill 
knowledge, ever think that, reasoning from a literal inter- 
pretation of the scriptures, it was by the evil one know- 
ledge became the heritage of our race, and that you are 
laboring to advance his work ? Strange paradox, is it not, 
that to you 'tis given to put the forbidden fruit to the lips 
of inncocent youth ? According to this literal interpreta- 
tion again, God placed the knowledge of evil, before our 
fii'St parents, commanding them not to eat, for fear they 
become as gods; and if he had not countermanded his om'u 
order, or the evil one persuaded Eve to disobey, we, her 
offspring, would have had no ray of knowledge ; but by 
our first mother's disobedience and fearful sacrifice, the 
possibility of attaining knowledge became a heritage of 
our race. A grand and noble heritage, no matter who 
made it possible. She, by eating, invoked knowledge which ' 
is at once an angel of light and demon of evil, for the fruit 
was of good and evil, two great forces which, in turn, rule 
the destiny of the world. Ah ! how eagerly we, her de- 
scendants, eat the fruit of that awful tree of knowledge and 
of life, which from the beginning has tempted all mankind, 
and though it often leaves a bitter taste, yet we long to eat 
and live. 



88 KNOWLEDGE. 

How fair to our first parents must have appeared Eden, 
when a knowledge of its wonders and possibilities burst in 
upon their ignorance, when they were leaving it forever ! 
How often in all the ages since then have their descendants 
awakened to the realities of paradise, only to behold its 
glories fade away like dying colors from beautiful dreams ! 
And, just as they realize it is Eden, adverse fate bids them 
wander forth, where too often thorns and thistles curse the 
ground. But though exiled from that Eden of beauty, 
have we not gained the far more desirable Eden of possi- 
bilities to aspiring genius, that that taste made possible to 
man ? It is through travail and anguish of soul that know- 
ledge was born, as were Eve's children ; yet is it not better 
to have lost an Eden of ignorance and gained an Eden of 
knowledge? For the loss of that paradise made the nobler 
Eden possible. Then, better knowledge and anguish than 
paradise and ignorance. 

Though the original tree of knowledge was planted in 
Eden, it has taken root in every land, and its seeds find all 
soils congenial, springing up in light and beauty, dispelling 
mystery after mystery, growing fairer and more beautiful 
than when in Eden. And, though we are sometimes in- 
timidated by the flaming sword of ignorance, which would 
keep us from gathering its precious fruits, yet we may eat 
and live. I believe with Swedenborg that the whole story 
of the Garden of Eden is a beautiful allegory, and nothing 
more, and if we thus believe and give it a spiritual inter- 
pretation, obstacles will be removed and we may feel the 
force of its illustrations, and lose none of its beauties or 
truths. Study and thought brings form out of the chaos 
and confusion of ideas. What poetry in the idea of com- 



KNOWLEDGE. 89 

paring knowledge to a tree which branches out in all direc- 
tions, with its branches crowned with leaves, flowers and 
fruits, which, as the ages roll on, beneath suns, storms 
and calms increase in size, beauty and strength. Wisdom 
assures us if we eat we shall not surely die, but progress to 
immortal life. Ah! there are so many things which we can- 
not prove to be so, yet which we do not believe or under- 
stand! There is nothing in all the realm of animal life that 
comes into life as destitute of knowledge as man, and noth- 
ing can compare with him in the possibilities of attainment. 
In this life, by knowledge, he may become the demi-god, 
and what development may crown progression in the life 
that continues beyond the grave, "hath not entered into 
the heart of man." 

If Plato's doctrine of Anemnesis were true, and our 
knowledge is but the reminiscence of ideas contracted in 
another and prior existence, there would be no need of 
teachers, for we would gradually remember all that is ap- 
portioned for us to know, without effort on our part. 
While this is not the accepted doctrine, we sometimes wit- 
ness such seeming proofs of intuitive knowledge that we 
are almost startled out of our established belief. For 
things do often come to us by intuition, and although 
intuition is not knowledge, we often mistake it for it. 
Intuition is an understanding of something without effort 
on onr part, or the part of others to enlighten us. Whence 
comes it "? We often arrive at truth without any previous 
preparation of knowledge that leads up to it. This intui- 
tive knowledge comes to us at times, opening glimpses of that 
life that lies beyond ; a something truer, yet less tangible, a 



90 KNOWLEDGE. 

destiny to which we are inevitably hastening, which is our 
abiding place ; a something which theology, which is full 
of glaring contradictions, does not reach or teach, and the 
knowledge of which we have not yet attained, but which the 
soul does understand; and by which it somehow comprehends 
that eternity, with all its vastness, and immortality is ours. 
This is why the problem of futurity occupies the most of 
the best thought of mankind. This knowledge hangs over 
a wise man as some brilliant sunset cloud hangs in splendor 
over a high mountain peak with the sun shining through 
it. It is a cloud, yet of glory, not of darkness, which 
speaks of more than visible beauty. It unfolds beatific 
visions that exalt the soul to a state that is above, and more 
than place. What intuition is to man, instinct is to animals. 
Even the lower orders of mankind have instinctive or intu- 
itive knowledge to perceive atmospheric changes and phen- 
omena — the power to understand the voices of beasts and 
birds — instinctively reading in nature what science reveals 
in his more intellectual brother. This offers a strange vista 
to speculative reverie. Knowledge is a mighty rock in a 
weary land ; and to teachers 'tis permitted to smite this 
rock, and from it gush fountains of living waters which 
form rivers of wisdom, flowing to the uttermost parts of the 
earth, carrying immortal life to the souls of men. 

The river of science flows in a deep, straight course, 
searching out the hidden mysteries and demonstrating facts, 
while truth builds her defenses on its shores, and art rears 
fair palaces and calmly enjoys the result of labor and re- 
search. History, with its broad stream, bringing knowl- 
edge down through the vanquished centuries, revealing 
many lost arts which avail us much in these later days. 



KNOWLEDGE. 91 

Mysteries which magicians have left behind them — secrets 
for ages undustecl— that we may read the records of the 
past. Experience builds citadels upon these heights. 

Flowing parallel to history is the stream of politics. Its 
crimson billows cast wrecks upon the strand, and the 
moaning waves strangely blend the tones of grand, martial 
music with the discord of despair and disappointment, for 
it is a treacherous tide. Along its winding shores war 
builds her forts, and there are fields of carnage and of blood 
and the dark fortress of envy, from which fly the poisoned 
shafts of malice, falsehood and revenge ; and there are 
many graves in which lie ambition, glory and renown, with 
all their brilliant dreams. Opposite to this, from the rock, 
of knowledge, gush the sweet fountains of poetry and music, 
singing on their way through fair secluded dells, where 
there are moss-crowned rocks, clinging vines, fragrant 
flowers, and ferns, and singing birds. In their shining 
waves of light are mirrored the azure sky, golden sunshine 
and fleecy clouds ; while youth, beauty, laughter and joy 
stray along the verdant shores, keeping time to the music 
of the merry spray and weaving garlands to crown their 
radient brows. There is one deep, turbid stream, the 
greatest of them all. The river of theology, whose dark' 
waves have engulfed much of the best and ablest thought 
of the minds of men. Upon its shores strong fortresses are 
built ; they are priwsons and madhouses and their inmates 
have been sages, philosophers and priests — men of knowl- 
edge, yet lacking in wisdom. Theology is a wierd and 
tortuous stream, and though sometimes flowing parallel to 
the river of wisdom, it is at last lost in the wild mad sea of 
speculation and of doulit ; beneath whose seething watei'S 



92 KNOWLEDGE. 

many a fair bark is sunk which stranded on the rocks of 
doctrine and debate. Not far from this flows a deep stream, 
calm, clear and beautiful. Majestically it sweeps throngh 
stately forests, extending plains and lofty mountains ; and 
the fair cities of science, temperance and truth, are built 
upon its shore. It is fed by the everliving fountains of 
honor, morality, justice, mercy and divine love. The 
music of its waves send forth hymns of true patrotism, love 
of country and of home ; and the sweet songs of faith and 
immortality float upward upon vStrong white wings, bearing 
the soul away on pure melody above this world of longing 
and of hope, until it rises to njeet that world of glory and 
fulfillment. Upon these shores faith, hope and security have 
reared their white temples, which shall ever represent a 
living religion which has but three words for its creed : 
Love, Justice, Immortality. This is the river of wisdom, 
and flows into the great ocean of eternal peace. 

Teachers, these are the streams flowing from the rock of 
knowledge, whose fountains you unseal. "Blessed are 
ye that sow beside all waters." Out there you hear the 
ocean waves moaning, surging, thundering forevermore. 
You cannot stay the rushing tides that come and go — ebb 
and flow until time shall be no more ; uor the great river of 
the west, the mighty Columbia, pouring her floods into that 
vast, boundless sea ; so shall knowledge pour her deep, ex- 
haustless stream into futurity, and all the combined forces 
of opposition, ignorance and fear shall have no power- to 
stay the onward rushing, overwhelming flood. Wafted 
back to us from the unexplored shores across that sea — 
softly whispering through the rose-marine spirit of the 
mist — intuitive knowledge reveals the throne of eternal 



KNOWLEDGE. 93 

wisdom, from which flows the pure river of life, ou whose 
bright shores grow the trees of knowledge and of life 
immortal, which bear no fruit of sin, but whose leaves are 
for the healing of all the nations. 



OflliY A BABY. 



OHliY A BABY. 



Dead ! Only a baby, a little wee baby — not much loss 
to this great world with its teeming millions. I^othing, 
did you sayl Ah, what a world of hopes, fears and possi- 
bilities clustered around its frail life. 

To the young mother who, with streaming eyes and heav- 
ing breast, looks for the last time upon that beautiful, deli- 
cate flower, it is much. O God! it is everything — the 
ruthless sundering of the dearest ties of earth. Pain is 
said to be the deepest, most real thing in onr natures. The 
strongest links between mother and child is the union of 
keenest physical pain and tenderest love; consequently 
when death takes the little one, 'tis the mother who feels 
the keenest anguish. Death cuts short an infinity of possi- 
bilities, when he breaks the fragile bud from the parent 
stem. 

Only a baby; yet what untold probabilities of suffering, 
of sacrifice, of sin, of goodness, of all the emotions of life 
that wear the heart out with conflicts, has it escaped. To' 
those who live the allotted time on earth, the crown of 
true nobility is gained only by conflict, yet this frail one 
has "gained the crown without the conflict." 

Only a baby ; an immortal soul awakened out of the vast 
eternity of silence, to sleep never more, but go on, and on, 
through the great eternity of blessedness. 

This busy world pauses not when its greatest geniuses, 



y<5 ONLY A BABY. 

its most illustrious sons and daughters leave it, and there 
is not even one little ripjile outside of a very few hearts, 
when "only a baby," the merest speck of humanity — a 
passing breath of immortality hovering for such a little 
time between the "two eternities," drops out into the 
boundless, fathomless sea. But the delicate, snowy bud, 
with all its possibilities of wondrous beauty and fragrance, 
is transplanted to the Paradise of God. And though you 
shall miss the affection, the little cunning ways, and all 
that promised to pervade the atmosphere of home, like the 
perfume of a lovely rose, yet up there she is nourished by 
the waters of life, and the fruit of the Tree of Life. Thy 
little one is like a fragile flower in a golden vase, watered 
by the everlasting fountains of divine love. 

Though this lesson of faith may be learned through bitter 
anguish, yet in his own good time the Father's loving pur- 
pose shall be revealed to thee. As the iron anchor sinks 
through slime and mud far below the surface and holds the 
stately ship secure upon the tempestuous waves above, so 
the anchor faith sinks through wretchedness and despair 
into the soul, holding it safe, and even though the day is 
dark and the hour bitter, God's light will break through the 
clouds and tears, and illumine the trusting heart with "undy- 
ing rays of peace and blessedness. So we brush aside the dew 
of tears and welcome the sunlight of faith, even the little 
shining ray that "only a baby" leaves on its passage to the 
skies. As we mourn over these incompleted lives we won- 
der why ( since they but shatter our hopes ) they were sent ; 
but if our eyes be but touched by the divine light, we may 
see how these unfinished lives were interwoven into, and 
influence our own, so differently, yet, with purer influence 



ONLY A BABY. 99 

than if they had fulfilled the allotted earthly years, for 
lives are not numbered by years, but by influence, and the 
guidance of "only a baby" in the spirit realm may lead us 
in straightei- ways more peaceful paths, than it would if 
left to walk earth's ways and experience its temptations. 
For that life entering there, yet remembered here, will be 
like a star whose light emanates from that world and irra- 
diates this, leading and guiding us to those many mansions, 
all beautiful, in the city of our God, where the doors open 
outward for all God's children, from whence they may de- 
scend to us, and where we too may enter in and dwell with 
them. 

Thank God the door of human faith opens toward hea- 
ven, the door of divine love opens toward earth. So that 
our human faith and longing meets divine love and fulfill- 
ment, and to the trusting heart may come God's " peace 
that passeth understanding" and the soul be made strong 
and brave. 



Thoughts 



THE ESTHETIC; 



AM ADDRESS 



Delivered before the Musical Al-amni, Willamette 
University, June 9, 1887. 



By Mrs. Olive S. England. 



■-^ii. 



SALEM, OREttON : 
E. M. WAITE, STEAM PRINTER AND BOOKBINOER. 

iKK7 . 



Thoughts 



THE /ESTHETIC 



AH ADDRESS 



Delivered before the Husical Alumni, Willamette 
University, June 9, 1887. 



By Mrs. Olive S. England. 



SALEM, OREttON : 

E. M. WAITE, STEAM PBINTER AND BOOKBINDER. 

r887. 



^HE QdDRESS. 



The sesthetic really means all that reaches and contributes to the 
higher life of man through the sensibilities and emotions rather 
than the intellectual faculties. Progressive civilization may be 
guaged by the degree of attention paid to objects of refined beauty 
and pure elevating loveliness. A noted historian said that "The 
history of arts and sciences is the history of the powers of the 
human mind, and their inventors have labored for all ages of the 
world, have provided at a great distance for all our occasions." He 
placed music sixth in the ratio of importance. That it should rank 
as one of the most important and best means of intellectual develop- 
ment, none deny. It is a very ancient study. Its history, like that 
of other arts, sciences and religions being lost in ancient mythologies. 

Some authorities claim that man first learned music from warb- 
ling birds. All authorities agree that the first musical instrument 
was the shell of a tortoise. Mythology tells us this was made into 
a musical instrument by the infant Hermes, who, when but four 
hours old took a walk and seeing a tortoise said, "Thou slowly 
crawlest, now there is no use in thee, thou shalt die and sing for- 
ever." So he killed it and across the shell he stretched strings 
made of oxhide, thus making the first lyre. This he gave to Apollo 
saying, "To those who touch it not knowing how to draw forth its 
speech it will babble strange nonsense and rave with uncertain 
moanings, but thy knowledge is born with thee and my lyre be- 
comes thine." At the touch of Apollo's hand, waves of such sweet 
sounds roiled forth that the trees bent to listen. Pythagoras taught 
that the world was formed by harmony of sound. He annexed 
certain peculiar sounds to the rolling spheres, and one rule laid 
down for his disciples was to adore the whispering wind. He also 
taught that the distance of-tjie celestial spheres from the earth cor- 



4 TJiovglits upon The yEsfhetic. 

responds to the proportion of notes in a musical scale. He and 
Plato both believed "everything musical of divine origin ;" that 
God gave us this corrective of soul and body so that our powers 
and impulses should be harmonized into mutual assistance and 
perfect unison. Pythagoras made use of music to tranquilize his 
mind, and it was the custom of his disciples when rising from bed 
to awaken the mind with music in order to render them more fit 
for the duties of the day, and also before retiring for the night to 
calm their thoughts before they slept. How poetic the thought of 
being lulled to dreams and rest, and awakened to duty by sweet 
melodies which softens and throws a charm over the stern realities 
of life, and tranquilizes the mind for the reception of truth. On 
account of the wisdom and temperance of Pythagoras, his disciples 
called him the son of God, (though this was about 600 years before 
Christ's time) they said he was the only mortal, by the gods allowed 
to hear the " music of the spheres." Whether or not this was true 
he must have heard divine notes of truth for he surely possessed 
the true idea of the solar system, w^hich, afterwards revived by 
Copernicus, was established by Newton, and many in the world 
to-day are beginning to accept his idea of God. In the language of 
another I would ask, "Who, acquainted with th6 laws of sound 
can positively declare that this was impossible, for Pythagoras 
with swelling soul to catch the harmoniously blended notes pro- 
duced by the planets plunging through space. Is it not scientifically 
demonstrated that there is in the movement of soundwaves a max- 
imum and minimum limit above and below which the mortal ear 
ceases to receive vibrations ? Then what a universe of harmonies 
unknown to human sensibilities, and philosophies may be filling all 
the circling spheres with melodies." We know there are certain 
states or conditions when mortal ears may literally hear — it may be 
the music of the spheres. Often when death is near and the spirit 
is just leaving its earthly house, doth the ears by some occult pro- 
cess by us not understood — attuned to higher and holier melodies, 
catch heavenly tones of other worlds than ours, even while the 
lips have power to tell of its seraphic harmonies. 

It is said that the number of really great musicians is small in 
comparison with the greatness of men in other vocations. One rea- 



Thoug]di< upon The ^Estliefic. 5 

son may be, because of the infinite painstaking and constant 
practice required to keep up to any standard of excellence, for it is 
an exacting tyrant witli all its allurements, and though possessing 
the greatest and most agreeable influence, with the exception of 
oratory, over the emotions, is the most fleeting of all accomplish- 
ments and its influence more unsubstantial than a dream, there is 
nothing to fix its modulations, nothing remains to attest its charms 
and quality, nothing ! And we arouse from its spell vaguely won- 
dering what power bewitched us. Yet its sweet tones are not lost, 
and though fleeting, each time 'tis heard it leaves the soul of a bet- 
ter, different quality than it was before this sense of grandeur per- 
vaded it. It awakens in the spiritual nature the chords already 
there belonging to the soul, and all that benefits and betters it will 
work continually in ever new and grander ways, strengthening, 
refining and advancing it. Music is the only passion sure of being 
gratified in heaven. In other branches supreme excellence appeals 
dire«ttly to our appreciation, but the nearer perfection music attains 
the more cultivation is required to aj^preciate its beauties. Of all 
the arts and science anciently, music was most generally cultivated. 
It was used at their solemn sacrifices, festivals, and even at their 
meals. The Jews uttered their prophesies in song until prophesy 
came to mean song, and to a great extent the music of a nation is 
its prophesy. The world has been prone to take up the Jewish 
hymns, poems and songs, and build a religious theory out of them. 
In our interpretation of these we do them and ourselves injustice. 
Supposing two or three thousand years hence our songs were as lit- 
erally interpreted as are theirs, think what a fearful jumble we 
would be in to literally interpret our contemporary poets. We have 
our minstrel songs, (and they are suited to those who sing them) 
our ballads, hymns, war and salvation army songs. Supposing 
future generations would collect these into a book and use them for 
the foundation of a theological system, and ostracise those who did 
not receive them as truth. It is to be hoped that in future cen- 
turies they will not be placed as a rule of life in the hands of a peo- 
ple ignorant of their true significance. For in trying to follow 
them and their future expounders they will be divided into more 
sects than are the followers of the Jewish psalms now, and our 



6 ThoiigJits upon The ^Esthetic. 

enlightenment is considered superior to theirs. Let these hymns, 
poems and psalms represent their original signifieance and there is 
inspiration in them, but place them entirely beyond their possible 
meanings, and there is anything but inspiration in them. 

Music may very properly be divided into the scientific and 
emotional. The scientific may be subdivided into head, hand and 
heel music. Some who make comjDlete success of mechanical or 
theoretical music are not endowed with the deep feeling and fine 
imagination to be the true interpreters of ideal music, that which 
awakens and controls the emotional and spiritual qualities. Head 
music consists of theory, and is certainly intellectual. While one 
may be an acknowledged success in this, and it is eminently nec- 
essary, yet, if music consists more of agreeable tones than deep 
theories or fine execution, he is not a success. To become a fine 
hand musician (for one may be this without theory) requires but an 
ordinary mind, robust health to endure the mechanical drill and 
skillful fingers. There is also great facination in that quality of 
music which seems to lend wings to the heels, and one may succeed 
in this without much brain capacity. In fact, lightness of head is 
apt to promote lightness of heels. This branch may cultivate grace 
of motion and some society success, yet not be much of a cultivator 
of either physical or intellectual power. Still there is much to ad- 
mire in head, hand and heel music, especially when the art is so 
consumate as to conceal all trace of effort. But heart, or emotional 
music must be deeper than the finger-tips, above, beyond all theory, 
and of that character to which the halt, the lame can respond, for 
it strikes responsive chords on that complex, yet finely strung in- 
strument, the human heart, and it is not always the whitest, best 
trained fingers that bring forth its sweetest tones. The heart is 
very sensitive to the influence of the musician and quick to discern 
the true from the false, which consists not so much in siktll as inten- 
sity of feeling, to which magic siiell our souls respond, while we 
have only an intellectual admiration for the merely scientific. 
Doubtless the scientific is as true as the inspirational, and we claim 
not the superiority of one over the other, but they are different 
gifts. Isms and theories fail to sound the depths of the heart, for 
it must be sounded by the emotions, and it is the peculiarity of 



TJioxf/Jit'^ upon The yEsfhetic. ' 7 

musical influence tliat it is emotional, having but little in common 
with the practical. Not that we should cultivate the emotional to 
the exclusion of the practical, for practical exjieriences are ours 
every day, and we must be familiar with their meanings, but there 
are but few who are expounders and interjireters of the emotions. 
This perceptive music partakes of the nature of religion, and if not 
religion, is surely a great leap toward it, for both mnsic and religion 
are closely allied branches of the science of the soul, and through 
inspiration music intutivelij imparts the knowledge that science 
demonstrates: and ennobles us, and each ennobling impression we 
receive, from whatever source, is a shining link in immortal inspira- 
tion. Inspiration sustains the same relation to music as a science 
as the soul does to the body. While the science of harmony is the 
perfect arrangement of music, the melody is the soul running all 
through it, and we enjoy it according to the mood we are in, yet it 
often changes the mood. If we understood the substance and 
structure of onr souls we might be able to account for the strange 
emotions, moods and inconsistencies which take possession of them. 
Music awakens -all the faculties, the most stirring powers of the 
heart are exerted at its wondrous bidding, causing the dancer to 
keep step, arousing the warrior to go bravely forth to battle, and 
teaching religion to sing anthems of praise and adoration. We 
concede that in many ways it has not the greatness and splendor of 
oratory, for nothing will exceed eloquence for lasting impressions, 
nor the immortality of architecture and sculpture, the beauty of 
painting, nor the practical truth of science. Yet its claims to great- 
ness consists in wider and more varied influence. There are musi- 
cal tones everywhere. Even in nature's work-a-day world. The 
shining brook, pearly cascade and rushing waterfall, are ever waltz- 
ing, whirling and dancing to their own music. Nature's grander, 
deejK'r chords are struck by the thunder-tones, whose deep bass 
voices sounding from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, cause 
no wonder that ignorance and superstition have believed such tones 
proclaimed God's wrath. Or, in the mysterious waves that bring 
their messages from sea to land, and carries the answer from land 
to sea on the flowing and ebbing tides. But we hear the softer, 
gentler tones in the whispering breeze, the song of birds, the 



8 Thouf/hts upon. The .Esthetic. 

^olian harp, the laughter of a child. Every tone of the human 
voice, every sound of Nature moves to the harmony of musical vi- 
brations, touching some string of the harps of God. The immortal 
soul has its divine harmonies unheard by mortal ears, for music is 
indeed an invisible angel who cannot be clasped with material 
hands, but whose shining drapery is illusive as azure clouds of 
sunlight. 

There is that in aft sesthetic branches which eludes methods and 
theories, and only reaches or is reached by intuition. While all the 
arts, sciences and philosophies in their varied and beautiful forms 
exalt the spirit, yet it is through the medium of sound that Nature 
more directly appeals to the deeper emotional qualities. And the 
climax of spiritual exaltation is reached quickest and surest 
through music, oratory and poetry. >Sound and sight are the 
greatest of the five senses, and sound is greater than sight, not for 
practical, physical purposes certainly, biit for eternal s^Diritual cul- 
tivation. What the ear hears is in its influence like the perfume of 
the flower, sending the elixir of lifc' through and exalting the sen- 
sibilities by a more subtle sense than the eye possesses. The 
sesthetic may be divided into two groups of threes.' Those which 
cultivate and appeal to the soul by sight, and those which influ- 
ence by sound. Each group forms a perfect and separate chord, 
and yet any tone of either chord blends into perfect harmony with 
all the others. First, we shall consider those of sight, which are 
sculpture, architecture and painting. These form a grand chord, 
and are for outward adorning, so the eye reveals them to the soul. 
Exterior things do indeed dignify' and adorn us, but the interior 
things which make of us angel or demon. 

Those which are for the inward furnishing, and whose meaning 
is conveyed to the spirit by sound, or by the ear, are oratorj-, poetry 
and music. These are three of the gi'andest tones in the universe, 
and are exceeded by but one soul sense, and that is intuition, and 
through the perceptives when they partake of imjjiration these be- 
come intuition and intuition is God. This is not mere sentiment. 
It is truth, and one of the most important though least understood 
of all truths. These two grand chords acts as foils, brightening and 



^^^ 



TJi()n</]ifx vpon The ^EsfJtrflc. 9 

not diminishing one the kister and glory of the other. The one is 
art, the other is nature. Each tone of these chords hke stars differ 
only in glory, deriving their light from the same source and send- 
ing it out on the SBme great mission of intellectual light and 
lieavenly beauty. To say that a mysterious sympathy pervades 
and unites them is to say no new things. Neither do we under- 
stand why, or tchat it is. Yet if a person excel in one of these in 
the emotional sense, he has, if not great talent, at least taste for all. 
To the true iDainter the sj^irits of architecture and sculpture calls. 
To tJie heart musician the spirit of poetrj' and oratory sing beau- 
tiful songs^they commune together. Having genius for the 
testhetic is to be possessed of. a living impetuosity, a beautiful dis- 
order of thought which .infinitely transcends the regularities of 
logic or studied art. As. its expression gushes forth from the pent 
up fountains of song, if reveals originality, excites the imagination, 
soothing the passions into pure and deep emotions, or, all com- 
bined, speak' by the outpourings of either, while all answer that 
high behest of the infinite, and are the audible voices of invisil)le 
things, in which God speaks in the language of emotions, which 
are the rounds of the ladder of thouglit, by which we tvscend to 
Him and his angels descend to us. Some spirits live in the clouds 
and are filled with dreams ; they do not descend to the earthly, yet 
more solid footing of hill, mountain, rock, wood and stream. Well, 
the gold-tinted clouds, far azure-fields of ether,, are for the light and 
airy wings of imagination — and spirit must soar ; but we are pos- 
sessed of two natures, and though the spirit deal with the invisible, 
the physical must descend to the practical. Yet both are actual ; 
but both are 7iot tangible. The tangible is the mortal, dying, rep- 
resented by things seen ; but things heard are of the same substance 
as thought or inspiration, and are part of the ever-living soul, 
changing, f)rogressing forever, causing the doors of the soul to open 
and the sweet angels, poetry and song enter in. These voices of 
Nature must speak. They awaken new hopes and arouse old 
memories, and we discern the Divine language in its elements, 
for of such is the Great Eternal Soul. Herein lies the difference 
bet%veen the mechanical and inspired. You and I have felt the 
power of inspiration, for- it is a grander, nobler quality now than 



10 Thoughts vpon The ^Esthetic. 

ever before. It speaks in the language that Nature instills in 
hearts, and increases in proportion to intellectual development and 
appreciation, or, in proportion to the world's great need of it. 
There are singers whose voices carry the force of inspiration, who 
may not have the power of lungs and vocal organs, for lungs and 
vocal organs are far from constituting the music of the soul ; and 
there is a wide difference between the forceful expression of nature 
and that affectation which art vainly attempts to supi^ly. Yet, art 
is ' very capable of polishing the diamond that Nature makes. 
Some degree of excellence may be attained by application in' all 
aesthetic branches except poetry and emotional music. The poet 
and inspired musician must be born with soul full charged with its 
great commission, and its exi^ressions be yours or mine by divine 
inheritance. Even that successful talent, determination, fails to 
raise one much above the common place unless he bring from that 
vague eternity from which we come that mysterious power which 
arouses the heart to contemplation of that eternity to which we go. 
We have reliefs, paintings, statutes of the ancients with which we 
may compare our own, and the history of music, yet not one tone 
of its sweet voices has floated down over the centuries for us to 
judge its merits by. We have the living, breathing principle in- 
tensified. It leaves the instrument of which it was the soul, as the 
soul leaves the body of which it was the immortal spark. The in- 
strument is destructible, but the sweet tones which pervaded it are 
immortal life. What more fleeting than sound 'tis an unseen thing 
like the spirit of life, but by the emotions 'tis ajjpropriated and 
contributes to the concord of the soul and lives, undying harmony. 

Human sympathy is born of sorrow, but is the sweetest note ever 
sounded, and produces unison of hearts. After the recent terrible 
mine explosion at Naniomo, the horrible discord of disaster, death 
and ruin which struck we know not why, was quickly followed by 
the tender responsive chord of God-like love and sympathy which 
also passeth understanding, as human love responds from all over 
the land with aid and blessing. There are times when discords of 
evil and crime like those of a Kissane, or the incendiary who set 
fire to that palace of wondrous architecture and beauty, Hotel del 
Monte, causes our faith in humanity to waver ; but we find it 



rj^ 



Thoughts, upon The ^Esthetic. 11 

blessed not to hear these discords by listening to sweeter strains 
that tell of heroes such as Hutson who descended into the fearful 
hell-pit of the mine to literally " rescue the jDerishing " until he lost 
his life for his fellow men. I know not his creed. I do not think 
any questions were asked at heavens portal. The lowly Nazai-ene 
is there — he knows his own. And though this man may have 
made no music on earth sweeter than the creaking machinery that 
lowered him into that chasm of fire and darkness, and though he 
bore no other token than the black crown of deadly gas he wore 
abovit his brow with which the demon of that pit had crowned 
him — yet crown more glorious could not be worn, for the blackness 
of the coal has turned to diamonds there. The only crown we will 
ever wear must be of earth, earthy ; and he who sings the "music 
of heaven " must practice it here, for the golden harps won't seem 
so aw^kward in our hands if we take a few lessons on the human 
harps. Angel harpstrings may be swept by hands that are rough 
and red, but what helpfulness in the hand that opens in ministra- 
tions of love, reaching out to lead "beside the still waters" the 
weak and despondent, putting the harp of hope into feeble, tired 
hands, raising the fallen angels of earth into light and life here 
and now. Such hands may not be skillful on ordinary musical in- 
struments, but they lovingly touch the chords of thoughtful ten- 
derness and fill this world with notes of song. Such hands never 
loosen their clasp on the Eternal. Ah ! well, the world is awaken- 
ing to nobler ideas of angel harjis and crowns, and the 19th century 
angels are laying aside the old cracked instruments of praise, and 
are beginning to sing the dear old songs in netv keys better under- 
stood for the new heaven and neiv earth of a more rational under- 
standing and better appreciation of our Qocl. Humanity is set 
together like diflerent parts of song or the music of a chorus. 
Some natures supply the sweet melody, some the deep toned 
strength of bass, others the intermediate alto and tenor, while some 
are the keynotes of the age in which they live. Washington, Lin- 
coln, Harriet Beecher Stowc, and even old John Brown struck the 
keynotes of physical freedom, as Luther, Sweedenborg, Channing 
and others have struck the higher tones of mental freedom from 
reUgious tliralldom. Homer, Shakspeare, Milton, Burns, Byron, 



12 ThongldH npoii Tlie ^Esthetic. 

touched the wild, inijjetuous key tones in poetry and song. Hume, 
Gibbon, Rollins, Macauley, the deep toned chords of histor3\ 
Plato, Socrates, Pythagoras, . Franklin, Newton, Darwin, Edison, 
have sounded true notes of philosophy and science. Alexander, 
Hannibal, Napoleon, Grant, the harsher tones of war. Demos- 
thenes, Alcibiades, Ingersol, Wendell Phillips and Beecher aroused 
the enthusiasm of oratory and eloquence. Phidias, Praxiteles, 
Raphael, Michael Angelo, Titian and Turner have shown us the 
beautiful in art. Mozart, Jennie Lind, Bethoven, Patti, Wagner, 
awakened music's witching spell, while Zoroyaster, Guatama, 
Confucious, Keshab, Chunder Sen, Jesus of Nazareth, struck the 
terrible, the true, the tender, plaintive and pathetic in religion and, 
reform. For religion and reform ever prove the truth of the words 
of Jesus, I come to bring a sword, but my peace I leave with you. 
These and many, many others have struck the keynotes, and given 
character to the greatest principles of life. The heroes and inven- 
tors of arts, and expounders of science and philosophy are quite as 
worthy Of admiration and reverence as are the heroes of blood and 
battles. They, too, have had their moral and mental battle-fields 
covered with slain, fears, doubts and superstitions e'er they heard 
the welcome music of victory. 

I would say, in conclusion, let every child study music, even 
though in this branch no special success attend him, it may 
awaken the mind to some branch in which is success. And the 
mind awakened to a love and appreciation of the aesthetic is being 
led to a knowledge of God. For such is the mission oj the cesthttie, 
and these inspirations prove His i)resence. Many begin music and 
after a time drop it, believing they have failed. Not so. Though 
the recording angel has an immense book of good beginnings 
somewhere, which we will a// have to help square up sometime, 
somehow, yet my faith tells me that these unfulfilled records 
may be counterbjilanced by another of good endings where we 
started in one patli and came out in anotlier, and better one. To 
cultivate the aesthetic makes youth bright and beautiful, the prime 
of life more glorious, and is a funil of pure knowledge and faith 
from which age may draw, as the life-notes lose their gay appo- 
giaturas, trills and runs, and retard slower and slower, and at last 
stop altogether as the inharmonious discord of death breaks in — 
just as a prelude to the wondrous psalm of eternal life. Ah, Py- 
thagoras, there is the firm foundation of truth in thy wise philoso- 
phy, for truly when the final chord of peace is struck it is noHost or 
stilled in eternal silence, but swells the harmony of the music of 
the spheres. 



